Going, Going, Going and Coming Back
by GeorgianDevil
Summary: A sequel to my first story, Puppy Dog Tales. This piece depicts the return of Nico to England, this time with a slightly different plan. Four years older and prepared beyond his first venture, Nico is on a mission, and he, for one, isn't happy about it.
1. titles

**Here we have the Sequel to Puppy Dog Tales, a story in which we watch the progress while Nico Di Angelo goes to hogwarts and steals the sorceror's stone in the first installment of my multiple Nico Di Angelo crossover stories. This is the second of these stories. Nico has returned to England, four years after he left it in Puppy Dog Tales. **

**Enjoy. **

He was back. How strange, that around him mortal life moved so sluggishly, unaware of his presence, as it would for years to come. He had never been to this particular spot before, but he knew he was in England from the smell. It wasn't bad, but it was distinctly different from the smell of the United States. The air just _felt _different. Nico stepped onto the sidewalk and started counting houses. There, nestled between two muggle homes, was a dank, dirty, blurry, house that had fallen into disrepair. Wait. Blurry? Nico rubbed his eyes, but it was like someone had laid a film over the house, a translucent barrier that blurred edges and obstructed vision.

Was it the scar, messing with his nerves? He wondered, and he absentmindedly felt the rough line along his cheek. No, that couldn't be it; he could see the other houses perfectly. This house in particular was different—Nico shook his head. He was so stupid; of course a magical house would have layers of magical protection. Chiron chooses him for this assignment because of his previous experience, and he can't even remember protective spells. Shrugging it off, he moved toward the house like he was trudging through a swamp. The spells delayed, but did not prevent, him from approaching the house. He finally reached the door, and drew his sword. Four years since it had tasted British air, and it seemed to remember last time's adventures. It would not get a taste of that tonight, unfortunately, but it would help him in getting through the magically enhanced door.

The Stygian Iron sucked the magic from the air, clearing it and allowing Nico to breathe easier. He slipped his sword into the doorframe and slid it down, disabling any locks it encountered. The door, now freed from its barriers, swung open with a light tap. Sword away, Nico entered the decrepit house as the sun was setting and the shadows lengthening. The foyer, majestic as it may have been in past life, was now plagued with mildew and cobwebs. The footsteps of running persons shook the ceiling, causing the ancient chandelier to quiver and dust to be shaken loose from the crown molding. A staircase at the end of the hall was clearly the chosen destination of the footsteps; two men and a woman appeared there. Wands out, they hurried down the steps, illuminating the hallway and casting eerie shadows on the portraits that decorated the walls.

The door swung shut behind Nico, provoking a herd of dust bunnies that leapt across the floor at his feet, while their cousins swirled through the air, lit by the beams of light from the wizards' wands. The aforementioned wizards where halfway down the stairs when there was a loud crack and another figure appeared at the bottom. The reasoning behind the man's choice of the less conventional method of travel was obvious, his fake leg clumped against the ground as he started towards Nico.

His face resembled that of the latter, not in shape but in décor. Scars of battles long forgotten marred his features as well, the signs of a warrior. Four years ago this would have been enough to earn Nico's respect, but nowadays that was a particularly difficult achievement that was rarely handed out. Another interesting and possibly deterring feature was the bright blue eye, so different from his dark, natural one, that was whirring in a way that made Nico feel a little nauseas. This could be a problem Nico had not foreseen; if that eye could see beyond the limits of mortal sight, then Nico's plans could be blown wide open. Until then, he would have to play it safely. He darkened his aura only slightly, letting a little extra power seep out. The man, at least, could not see his knives now.

"Who are you, boy, and how did you get here?" he demanded. Choosing indifference over ignorance, Nico responded somewhat politely, at least in his mind.

"I walked, sir, though the door." Nico gestured behind him.

"But how did you get through the wards?"

The rest of the party had made it down the stairs, and the woman had spoken before the scarred man could.

"Wards? You mean the stuff that made the house blurry?" Nico shook his head as though to clear it, "They were thick, but not impenetrable. I had enough magic in me to push through."

"Bullshit, kid. There's no way you could have gotten through our wards just with your magic," one of the other men spoke up. He had an aura about him that spoke of monster, and yet he was plainly human. Nico paused, examining him carefully. A monster hidden by the mist? No, he would have little reason to hide. He transformed, then? But into what? There was something about his drawn face, his gaunt but quick and alert eyes… A dog? No, the smell was wrong… a wolf, then? That seemed right—a werewolf. Nico had never met one, and he wasn't keen to during full moon, but the man seemed fairly harmless now. He looked back towards the man with the scars, shrugging.

"Well, that's how I thought I did it. If you have another explanation, be my guest."

The only man who had yet to speak finally did so, "How did you even know about this place?"

Nico observed him for a moment as well. His soul was interesting, incredibly so. It was as though he had died and been brought back; his soul was not as firmly attached to his body as it should have been. He also had a haunted look that suggested that whatever had tried to separate his soul from his body had not done so in a pleasant way. There was also an aura about him that suggested transformation, and Nico guessed it was some four-legged creature. What an interesting cast of characters. Returning to the question that had drawn his attention to the man in the back, Nico paused a second more to choose an appropriate answer.

"My father told me about it, said that I could find something I needed here. Two something's, actually. So I came over here to see if I could get them, but I guess that there's more going on than we realized. I guess you already found out about the objects then?"

"Objects? What do you mean?" The woman spoke again, and Nico noticed that here hair had changed from blonde to pink in the few moments she had stood there. Fascinating.

"Oh. I don't know…" Nico looked back towards the door, giving a pretense of hesitation, "I mean, Its sort of a secret, I'm not sure if he would want anyone else to know… My dad, I mean."

It had been harder to pull off the uncertain teenager approach since Nico had gotten his scar, and as he had gotten older and matured. His eyes had taken on qualities of his father's, the intensity and cruelty, and the insane madness, making innocence difficult to imitate, but he was still a fair liar. He shifted his eyes, looking over his shoulder, hoping that they bought it. He couldn't remember now how long it had been since he had actually looked over his shoulder for the advice of an adult, years, he supposed. He knew he had the woman convinced, and the werewolf, but the other man and the one with the scars didn't seem to be buying it.

"What's your name, kid?" asked Scars.

"I'm Nico," Nico said, "what about you?"

Scars grunted, but the werewolf spoke.

"My name is Remus Lupin."

"Hello, Mr. Lupin. And you?" Nico asked, gesturing to the woman.

"Tonks," she said grinning, "Where are you from, Nico? Your accent sounds American."

"That's cause it is," He said, "I live in Los Angeles and New York alternatively."

Tonks frowned, thinking for a minute, "Aren't those pretty far apart?"

Nico laughed, "yeah, different sides of the country. My dad lives in L.A., but he's really busy all the time, so I live with my cousins in New York."

"Oh, what does your Dad do?"

"He's the head of a big business, so there's lots of paperwork and a bunch of people demanding his attention constantly. Not really space for a teenager in there, unless he decides to have me do something for him. It's alright, though, my cousins are cool."

"What about your mom?" Tonks asked.

"Oh. She… she died along time ago. I was really little; I don't remember her."

Tonks looked apologetically at him,

"Sorry I brought it up. No siblings, then?"

Nico fought to maintain the charade, keep his face a neutral, blank expression.

"I had a sister. She died. I was eleven. She… she took care of me until then. I don't like to talk about it."

Now that Nico had gotten past that sentence, done what he had to do, he wouldn't talk about it again. Bianca had moved on. End of Story.

Tonks' eyes were now full of tears, and Nico knew he had won her over. That was the key- you couldn't be secretive at times like this. He had to tell them enough for them to think that he had nothing to hide, and that any secrets he kept weren't about them or kept by his choice. He had to be open about things like his past if they were to let him around the house freely, but it wasn't like he was going to spill any of the big secrets. The only one who he hadn't convinced was Scars, and Nico knew that he would be the biggest problem.

Nico wondered absently if any of the students were still around, the ones he had met when he had last been in England. He knew that Dumbledore was persistently alive and kicking, but not for long if Hades' threats actually meant anything. And the Potter boy, he was alive too, but Nico didn't know if they would run into each other. England was too big a country, but Nico had it on good information that this was Harry's godfather's house, so anything was possible. And, Nico started a little bit at the memory, that good information had also mentioned Remus Lupin. He'd never heard of Tonks, and he didn't know what the other two were known as, so he could hardly make a decision. Nico looked expectantly at Scars.

"So… what's your name?"

He paused for a second, then answered gruffly.

"I prefer to keep that to myself."

Nico nodded, officially and permanently dubbing the man "Scars" in his head, and looked at the fourth man.

"What about you?"

There was more hesitation here than anywhere else, Nico thought as he watched the man have a silent conversation with Scars and Lupin. His eyes kept flicking back and forth, and Nico was curious about the indecision over what was generally regarded to be a simple question. He held his tongue, but dearly wished to ask him if he had forgotten. Lupin gave the tiniest of nods, and the man finally spoke.

"They call me… Padfoot."

Nico's eyes widened and quickly racked his brains. He _knew _that name. He thought back over all of the conversations he'd had in preparation for the moment, but drew a blank. Why was that name so familiar? Padfoot, Padfoot, Padfoot and Prongs! That was it! Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. That ghost he had spoken to, those were the names he had given for himself and his three best friends. Remus Lupin, that was Moony, for the werewolf, Nico assumed, and Prongs had been the Ghost. Padfoot…

"Sirius Black!" Nico said out loud, "I knew I knew that name!"

They stared at him in shock, and Nico realized he had probably just blown it. He hadn't meant to blurt out the name they had all been so persistently trying to hide. However, now that his mouth was opened, it seemed to be unable to close.

"That's your name, right? So, you" he gestured to Lupin, "would be Moony, then. Why is that name such a big deal?"

"Wait." Tonks spoke up, what exactly does the name mean to you?"

Nico paused, thinking of everything he had been told about Sirius Black and narrowing it down into the finer points.

"Um… Harry Potter's godfather, one of the four marauders that sort of ran Hogwarts in the 1970's, Best Friend to James Potter, can turn into…" Oh. Now Nico remembered: he was an agimain- aminag- Animagus, that was it. He realized that he had stopped, so he kept going.

"Can turn into a giant black dog, is the last of the line of Blacks since Regulus Black died, and… I think that's it. Why? What should it mean?"

They all looked rather perplexed, and Sirius looked like his life had just been laid out in front of him, which, of course, it had.

"How do you know all of that?" Asked Lupin, astonished.

"I got it from a friend of mine, she said that she's known you for years. I asked about you before I came, because I knew I would probably be ending up at your house, and I wanted to make sure you weren't a murdering psychopath or anything."

"So we've clarified that he isn't a murdering psychopath then?" Asked Tonks, and Nico looked at her, eyebrows raised.

"Umm, he doesn't look like the murdering type… is this a frequent problem?"

"No, no of course not," Tonks said, but she looked uncomfortable.

"Oh, shut up, Tonks," Sirius said and she grinned.

Scars seemed stuck on one part of the conversation.

"Known you for years?" He asked Sirius, and his one whirling eye kept darting back to Nico.

"This friend, what was her name?" Srius asked Nico.

"Oh, well… I suppose calling her my friend was a bit of an exaggeration. She just works for my dad, really."

"Her name," Scars growled.

Nico frowned, "Um… I don't really know. Something that rolled well, like Ella or Lila or something. Lots of 'l's."

This wasn't altogether true, but claiming he had spoken to the deceased probably wasn't the best way to win them over. Better to feign memory loss, Nico decided. However, one of the names seemed to have struck Sirius.

"Was it Bella?" he asked, and Nico hesitated. He could claim that yes, it had been Bella, and run the risk of a less the friendly reception to that name, or he could keep up with the pretense of forgetfulness. The latter was safer.

"It might have been something like that. I really didn't ask her name. Bella, Lila, Leila, it really didn't matter at the time. My father told me she knew you, and I needed to know about you, so I asked and she told me, okay?"

"No," Scars said, "Not okay. This house is under a protective charm that forbids anyone who knows where it is to speak its location. How did your 'friend' say its name?"

"She didn't," Nico replied, trying to cover it up. There were lots of ways around that charm, and one of them was to be dead. Magic sort of fell off souls, this kind of magic, at least. His dad's magic was different, but that wasn't what counted right now.

"She pointed to it on a map, said it was in this general area. I landed a few blocks over, and I followed the glowing light. There's enough magic around this place, it stood out for miles, especially in a muggle neighborhood. She mentioned that too, said that there was a big secrecy issue with the whole thing, that it was headquarters, or something to that effect. I really don't care about that, I just need to find what I was looking for."

"And what was that?" Asked Sirius, cutting off various starts from the other three.

"A locket. A big gold locket." Nico wished he could slice out his tongue. He needed to tell them _enough_, not every detail. He tried to cover it up with a reasonable reason that his father would want a locket.

"My father said that somebody way back down the line had stolen it from him and he wanted it back. So he told me to go and find it, and here I am."

This was actually partially true. Nico had left out the enormous rant about Tom Riddle, but the wizards really didn't need to know every single reason behind his actions. He would keep the murdering business to himself, as he should have done with the pbject of his search.

"A locket." Said Sirius in disbelief. "You came all the way here for a locket?"

Nico shrugged. "My father gives the orders, I follow them. I don't question him too much, so when he said come here and find this, I just asked around about the place, and you, and came."

Scars glared at him, then looked at the others, and then back at him.

"We are going to discuss this privately. Don't move." To emphasize this, he suddenly shot a jet of red light at Nico. His reflexes were such that he could have dodged it, but he forced his muscles to lock. This was where Nico's magical training helped; he identified the spell as a stunner, intended to render the target immobile. He did a fairly good job falling back, a shocked expression locked on his face, acting as though the spell had actually done something. Clearly, they all bought it, as the other two men looked grudgingly accepting of Scars' hostile action, while the girl looked regretfully down at him.

Scars gestured to the other three and they turned away, but Nico got the distinct impression that Scars's magical eye was fixed on him. So, he kept his body locked, face in the same shocked position, looking like he was oblivious to the world. Actually, he was focusing on the whispered voices, trying to catch every word in case they tried to attack him. Their conference was brief, and soon they were coming back to Nico.

"Ennervate," Moody whispered, and Nico took that to mean that he was supposed to wake up now. He sat up, confused and groggy, and gazed at Scars. Before he had time to speak, Scars' gave him his verdict.

"We are going to contact the head of our operations and he can decide what to do with you. Until then, you are to be held here under guard." Scars decreed.

Nico agreed readily. He didn't care what the conditions were; he could lie around them if he didn't like them, but he needed to do this fast. This was looking to be a long venture, and Nico would rather be doing about a billion other things. He stood up and stumbled a little bit for show. His head really did hurt, but he could shake that off.

He followed Scars to the stone kitchen that also seemed to be a meeting room, and sat at the long wooden table. Nico was already bored, so he, in a momentary lapse of judgment, pulled out a knife, and started fiddling with it. He flipped it around and caught it deftly in his hand, smiling to himself. Suddenly a gnarled hand whipped out and caught the knife by the hilt in midair.

"Where did you get this?" Scars asked, and Nico looked up at him. He cursed his mistake while smiling, looking relaxed and casual. If he played this right, he might be able to cover it up and get his knife back. Yeah, right.

"Oh, come on." He laughed, "I had it in my belt. Its as dull as a butter knife." He drew his hand along the blade, which was dull by design. It was a throwing knife, that would do a lot of damage when hurled at its target. Bullets weren't sharp, either.

"What else do you have in your belt?" Scars asked, obviously not pleased with Nico's response, "And what did you think you needed a knife for?"

Nico raised his eyebrows. "I was walking straight into a potentially hostile environment. I wasn't about to do so unarmed. I'm not that stupid."

"No, I would imagine you're not," Scars muttered as he distractedly fingered the blade.

"I'm going to need all of your weapons."

Nico frowned. The requirement, while not unexpected, did annoy him a little. It brought back the memory of that event so long in the past, when his weapons had been confiscated after he had used them to save the lives of himself and three other students. No, Nico thought, he would never really understand the world.

This demand, however, made slightly more sense. Nico did the same as he had before; he pulled out those weapons that would always come back to him. He had acquired a few more over the years, and his armament now totaled fifteen various concealed blades. Only five, however, were tied to him: two steel, two stygian iron, and one celestial bronze. They lay out as he unsheathed them, gleaming in the candlelight. Unfortunately, Nico hadn't had the foresight to ensure that the blade Moody held was also magic. He doubted if he would ever see it again.

It made Nico tense to see them lying in the open, and he tried to keep from flinching as they were swept away. He still had his other knives, his sword and the gun. He wasn't too thrilled about having to carry the gun around; it had been his dad's idea. The 9 mm pistol was annoying to always have about him, and Nico wasn't the best shot. However, it was "the official decree of Hades, ruler of the Underworld, King of the afterlife ect, ect, that the mortal by the name of T. M. Riddle was to be executed by gunshot for crimes against the Gods including immortality attempts, death evasion, ect, ect, blah, blah, blah," or something to that effect. Hades had had to make an official decree, especially since it was an international affair that involved multiple people and an assassination attempt. Either way, Nico had earned the title of assassin and had ended up with the gun. He might have preferred a magically enhanced and therefore concealable semi-automatic shotgun, but you couldn't have everything in life. No, if there was anything Nico learned from his experiences as a Demigod, you really couldn't have anything.

**Okay, Truth be told, I had no intention of posting this for another week, two at most. Then, on Saturday, November 5, 2011, I got a review. And it freaking made my day. I swear, I was so incredibly happy, I went straight to my computer and edited and added and pulled and pushed this story. Of course, I was late to my Soccer game and this wasn't posted until Sunday because I stayed up to watch Demolition Man, but its really about ten days early**. **I still don't know the chapter count, but probably somewhere around seven or eight, depending on where I break it off for the next story. **

**This Story will probably get an update once a week depending on how my schedule fluctuates. Until we meet again:**

**The Georgian Devil**


	2. A chapter Of Manipulation and Deja vu

**Sorry for the long wait; Soccer tryouts were last week, and I had to get my grades up in time for Parent/Teacher conferences. I should be updating more regularly now; but this week's schedule was jacked up. Anyways, here you go.**

Last week in Going, Going, Going, and Coming back:

He might have preferred a magically enhanced and therefore concealable semi-automatic shotgun, but you couldn't have everything in life. No, if there was anything Nico learned from his experiences as a Demigod, you really couldn't have anything.

And now the latest installment:

Now a third of his weapons supply was gone, making Nico nervous. He didn't like to be stripped of tools in the middle of a dangerous situation, unknown territory. He would get them back eventually, he assured himself, but until then…

He played with the skull ring on his hand, drawing comfort from it. The daggers were just toys, playthings. He still had his sword, and with his sword, he was unstoppable.

The room was quiet but for Nico's fingers drumming on the table and the faint footsteps of the rest of the people in the house. Suddenly there was a bang, and Nico assumed that the front door had just been thrown open. There were loud shouts, up and down the hallway and running feet. Scars peeked out the door, and then stood back to let in a red haired man, who began to speak hurriedly.

"Mad-eye, they've atta— Who's this?" He asked, looking at Nico, utterly perplexed.

"He's that security problem I talked to you about," Scars muttered, and instantly both men's voices lowered. So, Mad-eye was obviously a well-earned nickname for Scars. Nico turned his attention back to the conversation, but he caught only murmurs, broken by the loud, protesting voices of children. Between a girl complaining of lack of knowledge, and a boy swearing gruffly, he caught the name Harry Potter, then the red-haired man was gone. Scars stood by he door, as silent as before, but his magical eye was now back, searching somewhere in the house or beyond. He was not as focused, his brow was furrowed as though he was deep in thought.

From upstairs, outbursts of noise continued and the voice of the first girl mingled with the voices of others, all joined in a sort of protest. A bird hooted repetitively, and Nico flinched, the noise sending shivers down his spine. A sharp command cut them off, and the silence was oddly distracting.

Nico started to play with the shadows on the table to amuse himself, but he didn't want to drain his energy, so he stopped. He tapped out a rhythm on the table, but he couldn't keep it going. Nico twitched and fidgeted as the candle flickered, wax dripping down the side and pooling at the bottom. A fly caught his attention for a moment, but it vanished in the gloom. He started to bounce his knee, but it didn't sufficiently capture his attention, so he started to pace. It had to have been at least an hour, and Nico couldn't keep still. He was bored out of his mind; the kitchen didn't really provide suitable entertainment. Finally, mercifully, there was a tap on the door. A plump woman with fiery hair came in, and barely spared him an annoyed glance before she started on Scars.

"I need to use the Kitchen," she snapped, in a manner that seemed to be contrary to her ordinary disposition if her appearance counted for anything.

Scars scowled, "I can't let him leave, and I don't want him near our food. How much longer can it wait?"

The woman scowled, "I give it ten minutes before there's an outburst of starvation."

He sighed, "Molly, we're stuck."

Nico had sat back down at the table and was disinterestedly walking his fingers along the table while he listened to their conversation. He didn't mean to interrupt, but he had just realized whom they were talking about and couldn't keep from blurting it out.

"You mean the kids upstairs?" He asked, and the woman, Molly, turned to face him, eyes wide.

"What makes you think there is anybody else in this house, boy?" Scars asked dangerously.

"They were complaining really loudly. I'm not deaf, I could tell that there were kids here."

Though apparently reluctantly, Nico's reasoning had to be accepted.

"Do you mind if I hang out here? I won't get in the way, I promise."

Nico figured watching somebody cook had to be more interesting than watching wax melt. After a brief and quiet discussion, Scars nodded gruffly.

"Don't let him near the food," he muttered to Molly, "I'll go and get Sirius, I'm due at the ministry in twenty minutes."

Molly nodded and briskly set about preparing sausage on a cutting board. The room was quiet again, the only sound the occasional clink of the metal to the wood as the knife sliced through the sausage. Nico watched it flash up and down and up and down until the sound of footsteps distracted him. The door opened and Sirius came in.

Black proved to be a much more interesting conversationalist than Scars, not that that was particularly difficult.

"So, what did the girl who knew me look like?" he asked, and Nico winced mentally, he should have been prepared for the hard questions. He avoided Sirius' eyes and instead tried to hedge around the question.

"Umm… Long hair… pale skin…"

"What about her clothes? Was she wearing black?"

Nico tried to look vaguely surprised at the question.

"Yes, she was wearing black. Everyone who works for my dad wears black."

"Really?" Sirius muttered, "That's odd." His eyes searched Nico's face, deep in thought. The last thing Nico needed was for him to be thinking, speculating, perhaps, so he interrupted.

"What's the big deal about your name, anyways?"

The distraction worked well, Sirius's eyes sharpened and he sat up straight.

"Your source didn't mention that?" he asked, suspicion evident in his face.

"Mention what?" Nico asked innocently, "What's the big secret?"

Sirius hesitated, not sure how much he should tell Nico. He apparently made up his mind, and offered a fairly vague answer.

"Fifteen years ago I was sentenced by a ministry court for a crime I didn't commit. I escaped from a maximum-security cell into London. Today, I'm still wanted by the government and survive as a host for the headquarters."

Nico frowned, "Wow. What did you do? Or, what did they say you did?"

Sirius now looked pained. "My best friend and his wife were killed a few years ago. I set out to kill their murderer, and the little rat got the better of me, making it look like I had killed them, and about twelve other people." Sirius was lost in thought again, but something in the sentence had caught Nico's memory.

"Little Rat?" he asked, "not…Peter Pettigrew?"

Sirius sat up.

"How do you know that name?"

Nico frowned, "somebody mentioned it… I think they told me…"

Sirius looked very troubled. "Does he work for your dad?"

Nico jumped, eyes light, "Yeah, that was it! Somebody said that he worked for my dad, but I couldn't find him. Usually I can almost always find people who work for my dad, but he wasn't there when I tried to find him. How did you know?"

"Just a hunch," Sirius muttered, "What did you say your dad's name was?"

Now Nico was concerned. What should he say? A fake name, what sounded plausible?

"Henry," He blurted, "Um… yeah. Henry."

Damn, Nico thought, that had to be the worst lie he'd ever told. He's sounded uncertain and stupid, his words coming out rough and unpracticed.

"Henry," Sirius repeated skeptically, "You're dad's name is Henry."

"Yeah." Nico said, trying to smooth it over best he could, "that's his name."

"Oh, okay," Sirius said, his voice ringing with sarcasm.

Nico anxious to change the subject, cast around for another topic.

"So, who's upstairs? How old are they?"

For the first time since her arrival, Molly spoke up.

"My children are upstairs," she said tightly, "the oldest is 27 and the youngest 14. You are to have no contact with them, she added sharply, and Sirius raised his eyebrows at Nico.

"Well, there you go. Why do you ask?"

"I… well… I thought we might hang out. There aren't very many people my age who will actually talk to me, my cousins are all older than me, so…" Nico trailed off, having gotten to the meat of the conversation.

"Oh, yeah, I get it. I wasn't around many people my age when I grew up either. But, you understand that we can't let you roam the house until we know more about you, right?" Sirius said, and the hint of regret and apology in his voice was just what Nico was aiming for.

"Oh, absolutely. Yeah, I'd actually be surprised if you didn't. Honestly, though, I don't know what else there is to tell. I like Reese's Dark Chocolate Peanut Butter Cups, if that helps." Nico said honestly. He didn't want to push it, or make it obvious, so he casually steered the conversation away from his situation.

"What is that, candy?"

Nico feigned shock, "You've never tried Reese's peanut butter cups? What do you eat?"

Sirius looked mystified. "Fizzing Whisbees are good, but I really love Cadbury Twirl Bars. It's muggle candy, but sometimes the non-magic things are better, you know?"

Nico laughed, "Have you ever tried coke?"

"Coke?" Sirius questioned, "Isn't that a drug?"

Nico laughed harder, "No, no, it's a soda. I guess its real name is Coca Cola, but we usually just call it coke. It is possibly the best drink ever invented, but we can't drink too much. We'd go crazy."

"We'll have to get some of that, then," Sirius grinned, clearly imagining it.

Nico nodded, "What about Fizzing Whisbees? I've never heard of those."

"Oh, they're really popular here. I used to sneak out of school at night with my best friends and we'd steal some from the store. We used to laugh and laugh, then Remus would get all goody goody on us and we'd leave money on the counter. A few of the best memories of my life." Sirius said, seemingly lost in old adventures.

"What about you? You're about that age, what do you and your friends do at school?"

Nico shifted, looking purposefully uncomfortable.

"I never really stay at school long enough to make friends. I get kicked out a lot."

"Why?" Sirius asked, surprised.

"Well, I like to say I'm accident prone, but the headmasters and principals at my schools just call me bad. A troublemaker. I don't make trouble, really, but it seems to have a knack for finding me."

"So, you get kicked out because you cause trouble?"

Nico shifted again, as though he didn't want to mention the next part of the story.

"My… My family has this bad reputation. That's why I don't make friends. When people see me, all they see is my dad and what he's done. And some of that is pretty awful stuff, so a lot of people don't want to be around me, or have their kids be around me." Nico laughed without humor, "The only reason I still get into school is because he's pulling strings with higher ups."

Sirius nodded, empathetic. He understood what it was to be judged by your family, to grow up among them but be separate, surrounded by older cousins who didn't like him. Sirius's mind automatically filled in the gaps in Nico's story with his own back-story, leading him to assume that Nico was much more like Sirius than he actually was. Nico didn't mention that he preferred the solitude, that he didn't enjoy the trouble, and that he turned away friendships more than he started them. Nico was very pleased with how easy it was to win Sirius over; it gave him a good feeling for the success of his quest. Molly cleared her throat, reminding both of them that she was still in the room.

"Sirius," she said, her tight white lips showing her annoyance, "go and get Remus for me. It's time for a shift change."

Sirius coughed and left hastily, and the only sound was the sizzling sausages in the frying pan and the bubbling stew on the stove that Molly was overseeing. Nico breathed in the tomato scent, reminding him of the first time he had been to Percy's place. Annabeth and Katie had made spaghetti, and everyone had come over. The Stolls, Clarisse, Rachel, Grover, and a bunch of people Nico didn't know from the Apollo and Aphrodite cabins. Lost in the memory, Nico didn't see Lupin come in and take the seat Sirius had just vacated until the scraping of the chair brought him back to the dingy kitchen. Lupin didn't speak, so it was up to Nico to break the silence.

"So, what happened?"

He jumped, and looked at Nico curiously,

"We, ah, had a security breach at one of our minor places. We're dealing with it, but there is some legal trouble that has to be taken care of."

"Oh," Nico said, "So that's where the head of the organization is? Dealing with the legal problems? I would have thought I would be higher priority, coming into headquarters and all."

Lupin laughed, "Is that why you broke in? For the attention?"

Nico smiled, "Nah, I broke in partially because my father told me to and partially because I wanted to get away from my family. They just don't get it sometimes."

He frowned, "Don't get what?"

Nico hesitated, acting uncertain; "I have a lot of power for somebody my age. More than a few of my older cousins, but I have trouble controlling it. Sometimes, things just happen. They look at me funny because I'm not one of them and they've just been reminded. I don't know, they're cool most of the time, but when they remember who I am and what I can do, its like they forget that I'm still me. I guess you wouldn't know about that, though, because you had great friends in school, Sirius said."

Lupin smiled, "Yeah, the best of friends," he said wistfully, but inside he was reliving those times when something would happen, and his best friends would look at him, frightened or concerned, reminding him that he was different. So, while he and Nico chatted about less wounding subjects, Lupin started to see a lot of himself in Nico. They were both outcasts, both feared by the only ones they could call family, the shadows that underlined Nico's dark, troubled eyes and the jagged scar that cut his cheek emphasized, in Lupin's mind, their similarities. The clunk of the bowls of soup on the table drew them both from the conversation. Nico was hungry enough that it hardly mattered if the food was drugged; he ate it anyways. She gave them both a disapproving glance, before turning and levitating and following the bowls of soup out the door. Lupin was eating slowly now, watching Nico with wary eyes as though Molly's glare had given him a silent warning to keep an eye on him. When Molly came back, she was alone.

**Okay, This is a lot later than I'd thought, because I thought I'd already uploaded it... I have no idea why, but when I saw there was only one chapter on the story, I was like, "No, I put up two chapters." Then I checked and lo and behold, I hadn't updated yet. Ah, well. I figured I might as well let you know I'm here, and I'm not bailing on you or getting writer's block like a certian other author of this genre (cough) DarkAngelofTruth (cough) Did I mention I would never do something so incredibly dissappointing and heartbreaking? Thanks for that Story "update" Dark Angel. Really appreciate you leading me on like that... Anyways, my bitter ranting aside, I'll see you sometime in the near future. By the way, this is the longest chapter I've ever uploaded. Proud of me?**

**Always-**

**The Georgian Devil**


	3. A new understanding of certain songs

**I have developed a newfound respect for Avirl Lavigne songs. The quote that sums up this chapter goes something like**

**"Nothing's going right, and everthing's a mess..." or maybe "Why is everything so confusing? Maybe I'm just out of my mind..."**

**Yeah, so, you know the saying "When nothing goes right, go left?" Well, I tried. It went something like: "Nothing's going right, I'll go left- straight into a brick wall. Okay, forward: another wall. Backward: crap, now I've deleted everything. Lets try t go right again- aw, screw it. I'll throw it up on the site and maybe _somebody_ can tell me what's going on." **

**So, This is just… ugh. I'll tell you why at the end. Very discontent with the way this worked out… anyways, I'll leave you to it.**

**Previously on Going, Going, Going, and Coming Back:**

_Lupin was eating slowly now, watching Nico with wary eyes as though Molly's glare had given him a silent warning to keep an eye on Nico. When Molly came back, she was alone. _

**And now, the latest installment:**

"Remus, I'll take over the watch for now, its nearly eight-thirty. Go and get some rest, you need to be there by eleven."

Lupin nodded, and slowly stood and exited. When he was gone, Molly began clearing the dishes, as well as ladling out extra soup into more bowls and putting some sort of enchantment on it, presumably to keep it warm. She was briskly taking away Nico's bowl when he spoke up, uncertain as to what he's done to bother her so much.

"What's the matter?" he asked in response to her glare, "Am I in your way?"

"You're here," she said tightly, "that's bad enough."

"I don't understand," Nico said, keeping his tone light, "I mean, how does my being here personally affect you?"

She scowled, "you are dangerous. I don't know what you brought in when you came through that door, but I know it isn't good for me or for my family, and I don't like it." She sounded both upset, angry, and worried.

Nico sighed, "I'm not here because I like it either, but my step-mother was out of town. Whenever she leaves, my dad feels free to send me wherever he wants. He wanted me here, and here I am." Nico realized he would need to be very careful with how he played this. Molly would not be so easy to win over as her companions had been.

"Your step-mother?" She asked sharply, as though determined to criticize, "Then your parents are divorced? They married young, I assume, and then realized how foolish they were. Common mistake, in the weak-minded."

With difficulty, Nico let the insults to his father and mother slide. He couldn't get mad, he had to be calm, certain. She would feel bad enough when he had said his piece.

"Actually, my mother died when I was three. I don't remember her at all."

"Oh," Molly said, cheeks red, "I'm sorry. You were raised by your step-mother, then?"

Nico shook his head, "My sister was four years older than I. She raised me. I met my father and step-mother a few years ago."

"He abandoned you after your mother passed away?" Molly said, disapproval shaping her face while pity filled her eyes.

"Not entirely, he set up a trust fund and made sure the two of us were safe and cared for, for the most part. He's a very busy person, not a lot of time for family life." Nico shifted, knowing the hard part was coming.

"Where is your sister now?" Molly asked, as though she were trying to land on a happier subject.

There it was, the difficult part. The truth had to be told, lest he be caught lying, but it didn't make it any easier to say the words.

"She… a few years ago… She went with four friends, on a trip to California. Two weeks later, three of her friends came back, saying that the other two had… had died in a car accident. She was the only family I had known until that point… that was when I met my dad." Nico looked down, finished. He hated to talk about it, hated to retell the story and refresh the hopeless feeling, the fear and the weakness he had felt without his sister.

Molly tried to ignore the well of pity that was rising in her chest. She couldn't offer condolences, fall for his tales of hardship, so she quickly grasped the single topic that could steer them away from his tragic past.

"You met your father when you were eleven?" She said, still incredulous at his shattered family.

"Yeah," Nico said, and the corners of his mouth twisted in a wry smile at an old memory, "And it wasn't a joyous family reunion. I blamed him, for the schools, for my mom, my sister, everything. He had never been there, and I didn't want him to think I would just accept him. He didn't come at a good time."

"I'd like to meet your father," Molly said in spite of herself, "And tell him what I think of his parenting."

The idea seemed to amuse Nico for a second, and a spark of laughter darted into his eyes. They darkened suddenly as he seemed to be reminded of some unpleasant business.

"I still hate him sometimes," Nico muttered, before raising his voice, "My Step-mother, she didn't like me at first; didn't like the constant reminder that my father had loved somebody else. Then she saw how my dad treated me and warmed up a bit. She had a soft heart, after all."

Molly fought to keep her emotions from strolling across her face.

"How… Your father, how _does_ he treat you?"

The questioned seemed to make Nico uncomfortable, like he didn't want to open himself up like that.

"He uses me. He sees me as someone who has nowhere else to go and nobody to miss or be missed by. I can go out and do the dirty work, catching and bringing back people who have offended him in some way or another. I stay with my cousins in the summer, because my step-mom visits her mother every year about this time. She's not there to distract him, so he can do whatever he wants with me. I'm only here because he caught me before I could leave in June."

Molly frowned, like part of the conversation was unclear, "What kind of work could you do for him?"

"I catch people. The bad guys, the ones who are off the radar, escaped from my dad or prison, and he wants to pay for their crimes."

Molly was appalled, "You could be killed!" she said, shocked that he was put in danger like that. He was, after all, no older than fifteen.

"Like he cares," Nico muttered, almost too softly for Molly to hear.

The door opened, bringing Scars back into the scene. Molly stood hastily, having quite forgotten herself. She quickly went to the sink, face red, wondering how she had managed to let the child convince her to pity him.

"Molly," Scars said, his voice interrupting her thoughts, "It's nearly ten. The meeting is due to start, and we can't do anything until he shows up. With the recent events, he won't get here for at least a week. We're supposed to hold the boy here. We can give him the extra room behind the drawing room, the locks work and there aren't any windows."

Molly was in the hesitant process of agreeing when Nico stood up. He did not like to be talked about as if he had no say in the matter, and their impression that he was trapped here had gone on long enough.

"Look," he said, addressing Scars, "There is something you don't seem to understand. I can leave this house," he paused, and mustering up the last dregs of his strength, managed to melt into the shadow under the table. He didn't know whether or not he could actually open the tunnel and leave the house, but this was for dramatic effect. As it was, he still snapped back into being quickly; he had less energy than he had thought. He kept his trembling muscles still as possible. The strain of his weight was a lot for them to take. He would sleep soundly tonight; there was no doubt of that. Even while he fought to stay conscious, he managed to finish his cocky show for the two stunned adults.

"Whenever I want," he said, picking up where he had left off, "There is nothing you can do to keep me here. However, you don't have to worry very much about that. You have something I need, and I fully intend to stay until I can get it. So, I'll wait until your glorious leader shows up. Really. I'm not going anywhere."

His piece said, Nico tried to make it look like he wasn't about to pass out as he sank onto the wooden bench. It could have been a slab of concrete for all he cared, it was as inviting as a feather mattress for his aching limbs.

If either of the other occupants of the room noticed, neither commented. Molly seemed happy to believe Nico, but Scars was naturally suspicious and would not be won over so easily.

"It's not a good idea," Scars said.

"You have a better Idea, then?" Molly asked somewhat defensively.

After a moment of hesitation, Scars scowled.

"Fine," he said at last, "we give him veritiserum to check his motives and go from there. You, boy, will you submit to a truth test?"

Nico deliberated, "yeah," he said finally, "that's reasonable, I guess. What kind of a test?"

Scars pulled a vial from his cloak, and Molly inwardly marveled at his preparedness. Or paranoia. Whichever suits your fancy.

Scars handed the glass tube to Nico who surveyed the disturbed liquid curiously.

"Drink," Scars commanded, and Nico downed the stuff. He only had to wait a brief second before he regretted it.

The chilling mouthful flowed down his throat easily, sliding into his stomach. Nico felt it hit, because as soon as it did he felt like he was going to be sick. A wave of nausea rolled through his body, but quickly the potion moved on, and within another second it flowed into his veins, reaching his head and clouding his vision, accompanied by a pounding headache. He groaned, leaning back against the table, trying to keep the room from spinning in frustrating circles. The dots spinning around in his eyes infuriated him, but he couldn't rub them away. Immediately, Scars started to ask questions.

"Why are you here?"

Nico would have rolled his eyes had he felt he could do so without throwing up.

"Job for my dad," he said, keeping it short.

"What kind of job?"

Another question he had already answered.

"Revenge."

"Revenge for what?"

Nico had to admit he was disappointed. These people could evidently get any answer from him that they wanted, and these were the questions that they chose to ask.

"Insulted honor." He said, answering anyways.

"On whom?"

Now the haze of dizziness had cleared, and Nico wanted to test the potency of this alleged truth potion.

"None of your goddamn business," he replied, his voice raspy and his eyes watering. He had his bearings back now and was not pleased.

"What the hell was that?" He demanded, throat still thick with coughing.

Scars seemed more suspicious now, if possible,

"That was enough for one hour," he muttered, more to himself than Nico. Nico would have replied with a few choice expletives, but he felt the ice that had left his veins being emptied into his lungs. He didn't know if that was anatomically possible, but that's what it felt like. Within seconds, hacking coughs racked his chest, trying to rid his body of the foreign fluid. A mouthful of the tasteless liquid came into his mouth and he hurried to the sink where he spat it out. He hoped that that was all of it, and it seemed to be. The headache and nausea vanished quickly as they had come, and his vision cleared. Now that he could see, he glared at Scars.

"What was that for?" he asked, sounding more annoyed than angry, "Poisoning me gets you nowhere."

Scars frowned, "It wasn't poison, it was truth serum," he defended.

Something clicked in Nico's mind, and he began to droop in the bench.

"Was it magical?" he asked, unable to muster up the scowl he dearly wished to wear.

A nod of assent from Scars confirmed what Nico had suspected; his body was incompatible with the magical substance and his natural demigod immune system had risen to dispel it. Unfortunately, his Demigod side had already been tried to its limits today, resulting in a slightly slower reaction. The fluid had managed to penetrate his veins before he had rejected it, which was likely the cause of the headache.

He was also now bone dry as far as energy reservoirs went, there would be no more magical feats for him tonight. He probably wouldn't even be able to summon his sword, should he need it. If something attacked him, he would return to his father a lot sooner than he had anticipated, and not the easy way.

As it was, he managed to speak to Scars again, to ascertain that he would be left in the care of Molly and not the paranoid ex-soldier.

"I don't mix well with magic stuff like that. Makes me sick and tastes horrible too."

Scars was not a man who could be caught off guard easily, but this comment definitely threw him, as was Nico's intent. The potion actually had had no flavor, which was why he made a point of commenting on it. Nico knew that a remark like that would most likely stump the old man, and he could see by the way that Scars gaped he was right. As Nico had hoped, Scars gave up, turned around, shrugged at Molly, and left the room without a word.

Molly showed Nico to the room behind the drawing room, and he fought to keep from swaying. He waited until the door was shut to collapse on the bed. The strain he had put his power though today had caught up to him; the long traveling, the manipulation, and the vanishing act had all taken their toll, and that potion had required strength to repel as well. Overall, it looked as though Nico had a heavy night of sleep before him.

Molly walked slowly into the kitchen to begin preparing for the order meeting. Members would doubtlessly be arriving soon, the meeting started in less than fifteen minutes. Her eavesdropping children probably already had a plan in place to get as much information as they could out of the meeting that they weren't supposed to know about anyway. With that thought fresh in her mind, she put an imperturbable charm on the door. It would be a while before she could lock it tight, but that could wait. Dumbledore wouldn't be coming tonight, wrapped up as he was in the ministry problems. No, it would be over a week until he came, though individual order members would give him updates separately and relay orders. That sufficiently turned Molly's mind to the orphaned boy who was like a son to her. Harry, poor Harry, who had already gone through so much. Somehow, miraculously, she didn't even think about Nico again until he was brought up at the order meeting. He had slipped out of her head as easily as he could glide among the shadows.

**Urgh. I'm not happy with this section. Nico says some things I don't like, his reactions aren't quite right, and Moody isn't… I don't know, something's missing. If you can tell me what it is, I'll be eternally grateful. Something about the veritiserum isn't right, and the ending didn't come out how I wanted it to… I think I should have added more emphasis on the last sentences. Sigh. Ah, well. The next chapters should be slightly improved. You are almost guaranteed another post on Thursday because I really don't like the way this turned out. -Disappointed-**

**The Georgian Devil**

**PS: to emphasize my feelings about this chapter, imagine somebody, head propped on their fist with their elbow resting on a dictionary, a thesaurus, and a hardback copy of _The Lies of Locke Lamora_ slightly to their left, frowning at a laptop screen and slowly drumming their fingers on the space next to the touchpad, as they read and reread this chapter, wondering what went wrong. Imagine as they highlight things, delete them, then click undo a bunch of times before rewriting it again, and again, and again, and looking up word in a thesaurus before throwing that thesaurus against the wall because the word they're looking for isn't there, then getting up and going and getting it slightly apologetically because without it, the stack of books on which they've been propping their elbow is too short and they're so bothered by this and don't even know why. Then imagine that almost instantly they shut the computer and it takes them four hours of indecision before they finally put it on the site, and even then they are just so annoyed that they can't even bring themselves to go watch Harry Potter 7-1 to take their mind off things even though their friend made popcorn and it smells really good. Then they slam the computer shut in frustration one more time. Yeah. That pretty much sums up my fantastic day. **


	4. Genetics

**Here you go. By far one of the longest chapters, so I hope you enjoy it. Sorry for all of the scientific jargon that gets so complicated in the middle. If you are a biologist specializing in genetics, then you know that most of it is vague and probably incorrect. If not, you can pretty much skip all that. **

**Thanks for all of your input from the last chapter, and Happy Thanksgiving!**

**List of things I'm thankful for:**

**Family**

**Friends**

**Thanksgiving break**

**Reviewers**

It was late, very late, when Molly Weasley finally let herself climb the final set of stairs to the room she and Arthur shared. She missed the Burrow. She loved its coziness, its charm, its little garden and its cheerful hominess that she and Arthur had spent over twenty years making together. The cold room, with its ancient and dusty feel, made her wish for her home all the more. It was some small comfort that her children were there, but they were not all there, and the absences filled her heart with a small, persistent ache that was marbled with worry. Suddenly and inexplicably, she was reminded of Nico di Angelo. To have no mother and a terrible excuse for a father, and to have lost the only real family you had? Molly remembered when she had lost Gideon and Fabian. She hadn't cried that day; there had been so many deaths, so many loved ones gone by then that she had run out of tears, but she still felt that horrible trembling that brought stinging wetness to her eyes even now.

She had had her family, Arthur and her parents and her children and her friends, all there to help her through it, even with their own pain and losses. But to have nothing? How hard had it been for Nico to speak of the details of his sister's death? Why had she persisted in asking him questions when she knew, deep down, how it must have felt for him to relive those moments again? Molly leaned against the wall outside the door, and guilt rose up in her chest. How dare she make assumptions like that? How dare she press a mere child for answers and glare and scowl at him when he was only a boy, who was only trying to please his father? Molly knew that it was only instinctive for him. She remembered how every one of her children would beam when Arthur praised them. They tried so hard for him, just to hear him say he was proud of them.

She smiled as she thought back to Bill, five years old, sitting on the rug. Arthur had been fiddling with one of his muggle toys, and asking Bill questions about whatever it had been.

Bill had pointed to part of it, and said, "That's the battery right there, Daddy."

Arthur had smiled, clapped Bill on the shoulder, "That's my boy," he had said, and he lifted Bill onto his lap, "You'll make your daddy proud."

Bill had beamed. The praise had made his eyes light up; he seemed to glow. Boys would do anything to make their father proud of them, Molly thought, so why had she been so hard on Nico? The more she thought about it, the more sense it made and the worse she felt.

Nico had only met his dad a few years ago; he had been eleven, an awkward stage for anybody. Until then, he had probably convinced himself that he had done something to make his dad stay away from him, that it was _his_fault that his dad had never been there. Now, he would do anything to earn his father's approval. Molly was feeling guiltier by the second. She should have seen it earlier, should have recognized the signs of an unfortunate boy starving for attention and acceptance. Again, anger bubbled beneath the surface, clearly the boy's father recognized this too, and was using it. The things she would say to him…

Molly shook herself and walked into the bedroom, where Arthur was lying in bed already, reading a magazine by candlelight.

"Hello, Molly. The children all asleep?"

"Tucked away and not moving. Should we be concerned?"

"Only minimally. They have to sleep sometime."

"I doubt Fred and George have slept a sound night in their lives. Maybe I should have locked the door," Molly smiled as she slipped beneath the covers.

"Ah, well, there's only so much we can do."

"Yes," Molly said quietly, "only so much."

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked, catching her sigh.

"What did you think of the boy, Arthur? Do you think he's dangerous?"

Arthur stared past the opposing wall.

"I don't know. He has plenty of power, according to Sirius, but it is more a matter of how he uses it."

"Mmmm. I suppose. But he's just a boy. Only fifteen. I can't think of any boy wanting to hurt somebody, intentionally or not."

"Molly… did you talk to Sirius?" Arthur was wary, hesitant.

"Not recently, why?"

"He was talking with me, speculating really, about some of the things the boy said while they were talking."

Molly thought back over the conversation they had had while she was making dinner. She couldn't find very many things out of the ordinary, but there had been…

"The boy hesitated over his dad's name. Said it was Henry. That much, at least, was a blatant lie, according to Sirius." Arthur said, clearly trying to gauge his wife's reaction.

"Yes. Yes, I do remember that. He hesitated before he stuttered out that his name was Henry. It doesn't make any sense. Why would Nico lie about his father's name?"

"Sirius said he thought he might lie be because Nico's father is somebody we all know. Somebody we don't like. Somebody who would make us not trust him."

"What are you suggesting?" Molly asked, and she couldn't help the little accusatory tone from slipping into her voice.

"I'm not suggesting anything, I'm just saying that based on what he said, there's a high possibility that his father could be, well," Arthur lowered his voice, "You-know-who."

"But… that's not possible. Not at all. And even if it was- Nico said his father was married. We would know, if You-know-who was married. And, He didn't come back until last year. Nico said he met his father when he was eleven, but You-Know-Who wasn't even alive then. It just doesn't make sense, Arthur." Molly didn't realize how defensive she was getting, and if Arthur did he didn't comment.

"Arthur," Molly said, a sudden snippet of the earlier conversation worming it's way into her conscience, "Do you think we were too young, when we got married? Do you think we should have waited?"

"We loved each other. Nothing could change that, so what was the point in waiting? Why? You aren't having second thoughts _now_, are you?" Arthur asked, almost playfully.

"No, of course not. It was just something I said to the boy earlier. He mentioned his father had remarried, and, Oh, I don't know why I said it. I was looking to find fault with him, I think, but I assumed his parents were divorced. I criticized them for marrying young, for not knowing what they were getting into when they got married."

"That's very likely, Molly. What did he say?"

"Oh, Arthur, I felt so horrible! He said his mother had died when he was only a little boy, that he doesn't even remember her." Molly's lip was trembling, "How could I have been so heartless?"

Arthur wrapped a comforting arm around her, "It's okay, you didn't know. He couldn't have expected you to know that."

"But I acted like getting married young was a bad thing. Like his parents were foolish and stupid."

"Molly," Arthur said, looking at her seriously, "We _are_foolish, and we _are_ stupid. Everybody is. But not for getting Married young or for loving each other. We are those things because we're human. Don't feel bad. After all, I'm a fool for you, and that's a good thing. It's okay. It will all be okay," He said soothingly. Arthur had picked up that little piece of wisdom from his father, and had intended to pass it on to his children, but there was no reason he couldn't share it with Molly, too. Even adults needed a bit of comforting wisdom sometimes. They fell into a companionable silence, and Arthur blew out the candle, wrapping the room in darkness as they both fell asleep.

Unfortunately, though _he_ sure didn't think so, Alastor Moody was far from the peaceful silence of nighttime. It was two in the morning, and the bright lights of the Ministry's potions lab were still glowing brilliantly. Moody had swabbed the vial of Veritiserum to the point where it was dry, and a series of magical tests were being done throughout the room. He had been there for nearly five hours, and still the potion had come up blank. There wasn't any sedative, antidote, poison, _nothing_ in the Veritiserum bottle that would cancel it's effects. Still, he set about testing it. In one corner, he was boiling cotton leaf and a dragon scale in drynnewater to test for anything toxic, in another he was looking for Truth Serum antidote with powdered moonstone and acromantula venom. Various cauldrons were bubbling throughout the room, actually, with multiple tests and backup tests should the first ones be unsatisfactory. He was lucky he had some favors he could pull with the night-guard, being an ex-auror had its perks. The ministry labs had the best range of ingredients in stock for testing poisons, truth potions, and various other things Aurors might need.

However, right then he wasn't looking at the Serum, he was studying the saliva that had been left on the rim of the bottle. He knew Sirius's theory, and it couldn't hurt to do a basic test, just to check out the boy's story about his parents. Unfortunately, Moody was an Auror. He wasn't trained in the sciences, or anything of the sort. Actually, as it just so happened, he didn't even know how that sort of thing could be tested. That was a muggle science, and Moody had no idea where to even start to check on parents. He limped up the stairs from the lab and to the elevator, and he went quickly to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. He knew a woman, Julia Perkins, who worked in the Muggle-Worthy excuse headquarters. She had dropped the Auror business years ago, favoring the quieter life of a desk-job as she got older. She was also Muggle-born; her husband worked with Arthur Weasley, and she had used to talk about her home life all the time. If memory served, her parents were muggles, biologists or something. Either way, she was the only person he knew at the ministry who would be there at that time and know anything about Muggles.

"Julia," he said, seeing the glow of the lamp in her office, "I need a favor."

"Mad-eye? What are you doing here this time at night?"

"I'm doing some tests down in the potions lab. I need somebody familiar with that sort of thing." He said gruffly, unfamiliar with asking for help.

"Sure, I'll come. There's not much to do around here at two in the morning." She said, brushing her wispy white hair out of her eyes. She followed him down to the lab.

"So, what is it you need?"

"Is there a way to determine who somebody's parents are? Through something like their blood?"

"Magical, or non-magical?" she asked, her curiosity obviously piqued.

"Non-Magical. I have a sample of this boy's saliva, and I want to know who his parents are."

"Oh," she said, "that's easy enough. You just have to do a basic DNA test."

Moody looked at her, "DNA?"

She sighed, "Deoxyribonucleic Acid. The stuff that tells your body how to grow. Things like hair color, eye color, height, blood type. It's passed from parent to offspring."

Moody frowned, "How come nobody knows about it?"

Julia smiled, "Everybody knows about it; that is, every Muggle who's taken a Biology Class. It's one of the first things they learn. Wizards don't use it because they simply don't know it exists or don't care."

Moody bit back questions, "Okay, so how do we check on his Parents?"

Julia looked at the swab of saliva, "here," she said, taking an image of it and displaying it on the wall with her wand, "There's the basic structure. In this, we have an advantage over Muggles. I can enlarge this enough to see the DNA without special equipment."

She quickly isolated a single cell on the wall. "That's one cell. There, that's the nucleus," she said, pointing to a misshapen blob surrounded by other misshapen blobs.

"God, it's been forever since I've looked at one of these. Here, this is inside the Nucleus. These grainy things, in here, that's what we need to look at. This is Chromatin, and it is basically, and I'm talking at the most Basic level, DNA bound to protein."

"What does this have to do with his parents?"

"I'm getting to that. This cell is actually just starting a phase called Mitosis, where it divides. That means that the chromosomes are visible. Chromosomes carry DNA."

"Can we just skip to the part where you tell me what the results of this "DNA" test are?"

"I could, but I'm going to show you. Wizards need to learn this type of thing."

"Isn't there a spell for this?"

"No. Now shut up and let me work."

Mad-eye smiled a little at that. He hadn't spoken with Julia in a while, and he had forgotten how refreshingly abrupt she could be.

So, Julia went through all of the steps, pointing out the phases of Mitosis and the way the DNA was attached to the Chromosome. Moody's natural eye had just started to glaze over when she finally brought up parental genes.

"Here," she said, "I've brought up his X Chromosome. This is what he inherited from his mother- basically. The genes all check out," she said, a field of blurry double-helix's spinning on the wall.

"And this is the Y Chromosome, this is the one he got from his Father. I think that's how it works, at least. I haven't looked at this sort of thing since my parents died, and these tests are rather complex. So, this all looks fairly normal," she paused, "Wait. That shouldn't be there." A double Helix was spinning on the wall, and Moody stepped closer like he knew what he was looking at. She gestured to it, "this one is just for eye color, I think. But the allele for black eyes is usually recessive. What color eyes does the boy have?"

"Black," Moody replied, "Definitely Black. What is recessive?"

"It's just… well you get two types of, um, genes. One from your mother, one from your father. If your mother's eyes are brown, for instance, and your father's are blue, you'd have one brown allele and one blue allele. Brown is dominant. You'd be born with brown eyes. It is highly unlikely that anybody in your family would have blue eyes unless- well, we won't go into that. Black usually would be recessive. But somehow, it became dominant. Like we're dealing with a whole new allele. And- hmm, that's odd. The normal things you'd see here, division number, first generation genes… they're _gone.__"_

"Gone?" Moody asked.

"Not even there. There isn't any DNA from the boy's grandfather or grandmother on his paternal side."

"Should there be?"

Julia took a moment to glare at him for his ignorance, "Of course there should be. The only time there isn't is in true-breeding plants. But that's not the situation here- its more like that set of DNA doesn't exist, and something's just filled in all the holes for that set. Magical influence at a very basic level. And the cell division number-"

"The what?"

"Cells have a preset number of times they can divide before they die. That's very odd— it looks like the Father's genetic makeup is missing that number, along with all of the other genetic stuff that's gone. That would mean that the father's cells could continue to grow and divide indefinitely. And the cell structure- there is something very wrong with this boy's father."

"Wait. Back up to the "grow and divide indefinitely" part. What does that mean?"

"It means that the cells probably don't die. And looking at the cell structure, they are very fluid, too. If the cells don't die, the being doesn't die. His magical core—"

"His what?"

"Oh," Julia blushed a little, "I did some testing a while back. On some wizard cells. Just to see. And wizards have an extra organelle that produces the magic. I don't know where it comes from, but it is definitely what makes us magical. I called it the core of out magic. Anyway, the Dad's magical core would have to be very, very powerful. Only half of it is passed down to his son, and if you look here,"

She pointed at a different image, one of the blobs that had been around the nucleus, "That's his magic. Here," she said, taking Moody's hand and tapping it with her wand. A similar image flew to the wall, except the "core" was maybe half the size.

"That's your core, and this," she tapped her hand, "is mine."

The three images sat side-by-side, and the little black blob in Julia's cell was the same approximate size as the one in Moody's. The magical core in the third cell stood out- it was both double the size and a different shape.

Julia quickly enlarged her magical core and Nico's and examined them.

"You see the power source, here? Mine extends in different directions. I _think_ that's what controls talent in certain areas; charmcasting, transfiguration, power spells and such. His is very different. It not only moves in a smooth line, it only goes outward in a broad beam. He would be exceptional at all skills that fall within that range, but incapable at any other. How interesting. I wonder— that really isn't normal. I mean, look at yours. You're strong here, here, and here, so I assume that that's the attacking spells, defensive spells, and probably transfiguration. Then, here, there's moderate strength, so maybe charms and potions. I'm good at charms and attacking spells, it looks like, but _his_, they're completely different. Neither of us have skills that are off in this direction, and it looks like he can't do charms at all! See, he only has it going this way," she gestured to what indeed was a thick band spreading off of the organelle, "and one tiny one over here, that's strong, but isolated. It isn't _normal_, Mad-eye. Coupled with the problems with his father's DNA, I'd say he's a very, very powerful person, who specializes in a certain group of skills. But I could be looking at this the entirely wrong way, it's been so long. I could take it to a friend of mine, she's a real muggle biologist. Do you want to have this checked?"

"I'm on a bit of a time limit, Julia."

"Well, its nearly four. We could get there now, and be back by six."

Moody considered it, he didn't have to be back at headquarters until noon, and the results from Drynnewater test wouldn't be ready until seven. This potions lab was out of the way, so even if somebody from the ministry got here early, they wouldn't come in. As it was, he locked the door and set several intruder traps, just in case. He would know first if somebody came in here.

Moody followed Julia out to the Atrium; she had taken the enhanced images and put them on a sort of see-through slide. Moody didn't know what that was for, but he followed her. He didn't like this; he wasn't in control, he didn't know what was happening. Julia was an old friend, he trusted her, but it could very well be a trap. Then again, he needed the information. He took another second to layer an extra shield charm around the lab before leaving the ministry.

"We'll have to drive, but it isn't far from here," Julia said, getting into her car. Moody paused; he hated driving in muggle cars.

Unfortunately, he was out of options. He slid into the seat and he and Julia sped off. They pulled up to the house in a muggle neighborhood as the Sun was just starting to peek over the horizon in the distance. Julia stepped up and rapped on the quaint door, and the colorful flowers fluttered in the early morning breeze, dew dripping from them like crystal tears. A girl came to the door in a rumpled bathrobe, pajama bottoms sticking out underneath. She opened the door a crack; her hair was messy with sleep, but she looked wide awake.

"Can I help you?' she asked, her eyes darting between Julia and Moody, who had stayed by the curb lest there be a trap.

"Is Rose here? Tell her Julia has a challenge for her." Julia said, looking apologetic and kind. The girl nodded and turned away, shutting the door. There was the audible thump of a deadbolt sliding into place. A few minutes later, an older woman reopened the door.

"Julia? I haven't seen you in years! What's going on?"

Oddly enough, the woman didn't seem to mind that an old colleague was dropping by at five in the morning. Unlike her daughter, Rose was fully dressed in a lab-coat and jeans faded with stains.

"I'm in the middle of a project, but Alexis said you had a challenge for me."

"I'll say. I've never seen anything like it," Julia pulled out one of the clear slides, and Rose held it up to the sky.

"Come on down to the lab." She said, smiling gleefully, "I have no idea what this is."

Moody had done a routine check on the house; three people other than the Woman; her daughter who had answered the door, another girl, and a man. The girl and the man were both apparently asleep. No weapons, no magic in the house. Still, Moody kept his hand on his wand.

He followed the two women through a simple muggle kitchen, and down a short hallway. A door stood open at the end, and lights were glowing from it. Rose led them down the stairs, into a brightly lit lab with pristine white tables and a huge machine in the corner that was spinning and glowing.

She saw Moody's curious look, "Oh, that's just an x-ray machine. I'm recording the patterns off of the DNA crystal- I'm seeing if the Adenine structure is relevant to the reason it connects to Thymine, or if the Cytosine could be altered and substituted."

She was talking gibberish to Moody, but he didn't point that out. Rose took one of the slides and put it on a different, significantly smaller machine. A light glowed from within it, and the image was transferred onto a blank, white screen.

"Okay, so we have the basics. This is just one cell, but this-" she gestured to the Magical Core, "that's fascinating. It's producing energy, you can tell by the number of ribosomes surrounding it; they're carrying a very minimal amount to the surrounding organelles. Now- is this the DNA structure?"

"Yes, this was taken from a Saliva cell."

"Oh my god! The Y chromosomes- they're all fantastic! They couldn't be better if they were sculpted," she gestured to a similar model in the corner, a wide, colorful double helix.

"But— wait. There's something missing here." She put on her glasses and peered closely at the image, "The haploid cell residue."

"The what?" Both Julia and Moody asked at the same time.

"Oh, it was just an experiment I did a while back. See, in Sexual Reproduction, a Haploid gamete from the father combines with a haploid gamete from the mother, and they form a diploid cell that is genetically different from both of the two parent cells. But, there wasn't a Haploid cell from the father, that genetic DNA is missing. Well, no, not missing. But it didn't come from the father, it came from some outside source to fill it in."

"Is that possible?" Julia asked, her eyes widening. Moody had entirely lost track of the conversation. He was listening, but the words made no sense at all, and he set about looking as though he was interested and understood everything they were talking about.

"I would have said no, but here it is. This means that the father, whoever he is, _didn__'__t__have__DNA_. Which, of course, would be impossible unless some kind of magical phenomenon occurred. Because, here it is, the basic DNA that should have come from his father, and it's all textbook perfect, but there was no means for it to be transferred. This person shouldn't be alive, and that combined with his organelle irregularities adds up to a mystery. If this is right, and it looks like it is, then the mother was Human, normal, and the Father was- oh, I have no idea. Alien, I suppose. Magical. The person would be half-human and half-magic, or alien or what-have-you."

Moody looked up at that.

"Julia, do you have the ones of my DNA? Can we compare them?" He asked. He wasn't a scientist or a thinker, but he wanted to know how they compared.

"Yes, I have them right here."

Soon, the image of Moody's Chromosomes was up on the wall.

"See, here's the Mother's DNA and the Father's DNA. No magical aliens. All normal." Moody couldn't tell one from the other, but he didn't know a thing about this particular subject. He had to grit his teeth and trust the opinion of the scientist; it was the only option he had.

"Can you tell who the father is?"

Rose sighed, "I could on yours, but the DNA isn't there for this one. I could take two gene samples and tell you if they were related to this person, but I can't pinpoint a certain person as the father. However, the father might not even have DNA. This is just astounding, it's impossible. Somehow the person managed to manufacture genes and insert them into the boy's genetic make-up."

Based on the lack of response by Moody, Rose apparently felt the need to specify.

"It's _unheard__of._This… whoever managed to do that had to have some extraordinary technology or some new chemical. But it seems to have no purpose."

Julia mouthed to Moody when Rose's back was turned, _"__Magic.__" _Moody nodded slightly to show he understood, but then Rose continued.

"The changing of the genetic make-up has no purpose; it hasn't changed the physical attributes of the boy. All it has done is ensure that anybody doing a test like this wouldn't be able to complete it. Nobody can tell who the boy's father is."

"So somebody purposefully modified this boy's genes at birth to make sure nobody would know who his parents are?" Julia asked, frowning curiously, "that's taking paranoid to a whole new level."

"Of course, this is assuming that the father is simply a paranoid human. If we're dealing with a different, perhaps alien species with different genetics, then it could be anything."

"I think we'd have heard about an alien species by now, Rose."

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry I couldn't be more specific, there's just nothing I can do when the genetic information isn't there."

"It's okay, Rose. I hope this was worth taking a chunk out of your morning."

"Oh, it was. I just wish the results had been more satisfactory."

"Thank you, anyways."

"Can I keep these slides? They'd make fantastic testing material. We might revolutionize Biology studies with this."

"Um-"

"Sorry, they're classified government files," Moody spoke up, "And I think its about time we go back. I need to write up a report."

"Okay. Well, bye Julia,"

"Bye, Rose."

Julia got in her car, Moody pausing just outside. His magic eye was whizzing as usual, then it went still for a second. Only a second, and Julia didn't see that. She also didn't see the rippling spell sent backwards towards the house as she started the engine.

Back in her lab, Rose wondered why the overhead projector was glowing. She didn't remember turning it on. And Alexis sat at her computer and wondered how it had gone to sleep so quickly. She hadn't left it- had she? But she shook the mouse and resumed what she had been doing, keeping it muted so as not to wake her sister down the hall.

Back at the ministry, Moody and Julia went back to the Lab. It was nearing six-thirty in the morning now, and Moody had a few more tests to run. He walked Julia back to her office; the night shift was over and people were starting to show up.

"Oh, Julia, one more thing," he said as she packed up her things.

She glanced up, and the memory charm struck her in the chest.

"Oh, Mad-eye. I was just about to go, did you need something?"

"No, nothing, Julia. Do you know If your husband is in yet?"

"Nope. He shouldn't be here until eight."

Moody nodded and stumped down the corridor. He trusted Julia, but he didn't just didn't trust her enough. Back at the lab, he cleaned up the evidence of his being there. All the tests had come up negative, but now he knew that somebody had tried very, very hard to keep their identity as the father of the boy unknown.

The possibility that the Boy's father was, in fact, not human never crossed his mind.

**7 Hours Earlier**

The silence in the house was eerie, and lasted for a moment. Then the front door opened and shut, and did so repeatedly, with each bang bringing new voices and new footsteps that shook the dust from the floorboards. Everything was a whisper, however, every step a tiptoe, and they all made their way to the kitchen, where the fear of being overheard was diminished.

On the second story, a flurry of activity mimicked that of the first. The rushed steps of the Weasley children were much more stealthy and their plans and hushed conversations involved considerably fewer people, but it was of equal excitement nonetheless.

Fred and George Weasley crouched behind the banister at the top of the stairs, silently observing the flow of people through the door and into the kitchen. When the rush subsided, their plan could be put into action. Their two younger siblings waited by the door; ready to follow at the signal. It was a smooth plan that had already been used multiple times, but it had to be modified for this particular night.

As opposed to the usual wealth of information that they usually tried to dig from the kitchen door, the red haired family had their sights set on a different source on information and curiosity. All day they had been confined to the second floor, and that wasn't normal despite whatever their mother told them.

They had heard voices, one voice in particular that was unfamiliar, and had come to the conclusion that somebody had come to the house. Moody hadn't been exactly quiet in his initial interrogation, and the kids had gathered that whoever this person was, he wasn't a friend. That meant that he would only be kept around headquarters because he was either a valuable source of information, or he was too powerful and formidable for the order members to get rid of. The latter of the two options being inconceivable to the teenagers, they concluded that whoever the person was, he would have a lot of information. Being information starved, they set up a plan to find and interrogate said person, hopefully with better luck than they had had with their parents.

A few hours previously, they had alternated on the shifts to spy on the kitchen door, waiting for something to emerge. Sirius, Remus, and Moody all came and went, and finally at around ten Moody stormed out and nobody had come to take his place. Just after that, Fred, who had been on guard, watched his mother take somebody across the hall to the Drawing Room. He knew where it was they were headed; that spare room behind the drawing room was an easy place to detain someone. Sure enough, Molly had returned moments later, sans mystery boy. George had come to set up the watch as the first member opened the door, and there they were, waiting for the hallway to clear. Ginny was supposed to wait by the door to the drawing room and Ron by the door to the kitchen, to stand guard and give warning when the meeting was out. He was also there to try and listen in. Should their initial quest be a failure, they hoped that Ron could overhear enough that the evening wasn't a total loss.

As the stream of people steadily thinned and vanished, George gestured to Ginny and Ron, who led the way down the stairs. They took up their positions, ready to flee at the sound of any latecomers, as Fred and George slipped into the Drawing Room. They slid stealthily towards the door at the back, ears on alert for any sound that could tip them off. If worst came to worst, they would apparate back to their rooms and smile like nothing had happened.

Fred placed a cautious hand on the doorknob, and was not surprised to find it locked. He pulled out his wand and whispered a small enchantment. The door swung open, and the little light in the drawing room fought its way into the small space, penetrating the absolute darkness that had taken up residency.

Carefully, the two boys tiptoed in. The room was small, not tiny, but definitely not meant to be a bedroom. Regardless, a wooden bed had been pushed into the corner, obviously a late addition that was out of touch with the rest of the house's archaic décor. There, lying on top of it was the black-clad stranger. That was Fred's first impression, one shared with his twin, though truth be told, the boy's clothes could have been any color; everything in the room looked black. And he was a boy, that much was clear. As for the rest of his features, the only discernable one was a mess of floppy black hair. He was lying on his side, his face turned towards the wall. He wore muggle clothes and still had on his black high-top shoes, but that was about all they could tell. There was nothing for it; they would have to wake him up.

George and Fred shared a long look, and as though by silent agreement, George stretched out his hand.

If they were expecting the boy to do something, jump, or yell, or scream accusations, they were mistaken. George had shaken his shoulder and he hadn't moved. Clearly deeply asleep, they boys agreed they would have to be a little more forceful to wake him up. It was Fred's turn, so this time he reached out and shook the boy hard enough to shake the bed. This time, he did do something.

The mysterious boy's arm twitched and he rolled onto his stomach, a muffled voice issuing from the pillow.

"Not yet," the boy mumbled sleepily, "Hasn't even been an hour yet." This being not nearly satisfactory enough for the twins, George shook him again.

"Let fa h-pi-s eat me," The boy said, his words slurring incomprehensively in the middle, "See if I care."

"What's a Sharpie?" Fred whispered at his brother, confused.

"I thought he said Harley," George whispered back. Fred reached again, hoping that this would bring him to consciousness.

"Go away Percy. I want to sleep." He mumbled

The twins exchanged a shocked and questioning look. This boy knew Percy? But then he would have to be from the ministry—With that thought in mind, Fred shook him a little harder, then pulled back. It was a good thing he did, because from somewhere in the shadows the boy's arm appeared, wielding a silver knife that looked deadly sharp, glinting in the minimal light from the drawing room candles.

"I said go away. Go."

The darkness in the room was already starting to scare the twins, and when the boy pulled the knife on them, they both had the eerie sensation that something was reaching from under the bed, grabbing for their legs. They both ran as fast as they could, and when the realized that they were in the safe light of the hallway, both issued sighs of relief. Ginny and Ron looked at their brothers curiously, but they would wait until they were safely upstairs before they discussed the night's turnout.

The Grandfather Clock in the hallway was chiming midnight before the discussion was over. Evidently, the order members had a lot to talk about as well, because Molly had yet to come check on them.

"I told you," Ron said, the discussion having dissolved to an argument, "He won't leave, and he wants to talk to Dumbledore. He's only fifteen, he _can't _work for the ministry."

"How does he know Percy, then?" asked George, insulted that their information was being doubted.

"How did you hear so much anyways, Ron? The door was impervioused."

"Moody wasn't there—they were all talking really loudly. I could hear almost everything."

"Then what was the kid's name?" asked Fred.

"I said almost everything. They only mentioned his name at the beginning and that was right when Ginny sneezed, so I didn't hear it." Ron said defensively.

"Don't you blame that on me!" Ginny said indignantly.

"Either way, he sounds just like Percy. A pompous brat. He won't leave until he sees Dumbledore, can you believe that?" Fred interjected, wanting to keep his younger siblings from a yelling match.

"You don't think he has anything to do with… what happened to Harry, do you?" Ginny whispered, and the boys sank into a sullen silence.

"He… he can't have, Ginny," Ron said, sounding more as though he was trying to convince himself, "He's my age. He probably goes to Hogwarts. Are you two sure you've never seen him?" He asked, directing his question to Fred and George.

"Well," George said, "we didn't actually see his face. But I've never heard anybody sound like that before. The way he ordered us out of the room, it was like he was so used to giving orders, like he couldn't believe we were still there."

"His voice was so cold," Fred agreed, "and harsh. Like he didn't care about anything or anyone. And when he pulled that knife…" Fred fell into retrospective silence. "Who carries a knife, anyways?" He asked. The four were silent, each pondering their own pieces of information.

"Either way," George said finally, "He's important. We can try again in the morning when he's awake."

That agreed upon, the boys filed out of Ginny's Room.

"Fred," Ginny said, addressing the last of her siblings to leave. He turned, and she fixed her worried eyes on his.

"Do you think we should tell mum that He knows… knows Percy?" she asked, stuttering over her brother's name.

"Nah," Fred said, after a moment of deliberation, "She probably already knows."

Ginny, still looking uncertain, nodded and Fred left closing the door behind him. Ginny stood and walked across the floor, her bare toes protesting against the icy floor. She slid the deadbolt into place, not knowing that her actions were mimicked by each of her brothers. Ginny hurried back to her bed, thankful for the mattress against her back. Her mind was filled with the mystery boy downstairs, and that night she slept fitfully, nightmares of dark shadows and silver knives plaguing her mind all night long.

**Next chapter up sometime next week- see ya!**

**-GD**


	5. Up Front, this is the Man in Black

**In a little Ecafe**

**In a North American city/town**

**Sat a person with a laptop**

**And the ideas came from all around**

**And all the wizards**

**With magic wands**

**Were hiding under rocks and putting shield charms up**

**To block the storm**

**Of crazy insults**

**From the devil in the chair who typed the abusive words about them **

**But they all failed **

**Well, they couldn't shoot or bomb things**

**And they never learned to build a fire**

**And without their magic wands**

**Their life span would soon expire**

**And the devil who held the laptop**

**Was exploiting this and making sure this tirade wouldn't stop**

**And pulling pins**

**And tossing Grenades**

**And with a boom the wizards were all blown up... to the moon?**

**Where they suffocattttteeeeeddddd!**

**That's dedicated to Blake Shelton, Johnny Cash, and Austin.**

**On with the story!**

**(and with a quick check of my email, also to invisible and shaking)**

**By the way, it might be easier to read this particular chapter if you copy/paste it into something more legible: Lots of long, cramped paragraphs here. **

The next morning, knives were on Nico's mind as well, primarily owing to the hilt that was digging into his hip. He really wanted to fall back asleep, but now that he had woken up, that blasted knife was going to keep him awake. He rolled over on his back and immediately felt the chilly impression of the gun pressing on his spine.

Wonderful, he thought as he pulled the knife from its sheath and flung it across the room, listening to it clatter against the opposite wall with satisfaction. He rolled back over, the leather of the sheath on his belt one heck of a lot more comfortable than the hilt had been. He was just falling asleep again, when the bite of that annoying piece of steel wormed its way back into its same position, just above his hipbone. Accepting that he wouldn't be able to sleep armed as he was, he stood up. Instantly, his body complained. His muscles all ached, and his spine was not happy about regaining his body weight. He stretched, feeling his shoulders pop as he rolled them.

Dang, he thought, I'm not sleeping in my clothes again. He had to have been pretty wiped to fall asleep with the knife there, but he realized that the knife was one of the ones he had given to Scars. He checked- all five had returned. It made him feel better to have his weapons back, whatever his hipbone said to the contrary.

Nico paused at the door, wishing he could roll back into bed and just sleep, but the amount of activity beyond the slim piece of wood told him that it was likely already late morning or early afternoon. He had slept for a good twelve hours; likely more after the extreme stress he had placed on his godly powers the night before. He couldn't drain himself like that again; it could be dangerous if a situation arose where they would become necessary.

Nico turned the doorknob, and was surprised to find it unlocked. Maybe the wizards had actually listened when he said he wasn't going anywhere. That, or somebody had come into the room after he had fallen asleep. Given the circumstances, the latter possibility was definitely of greater likelihood.

The outer room, now that it was more than blurred shadows seen through tired eyes, had an archaic style to match everything else he had seen. It looked like a haunted house setting with ancient, dusty candelabras and sheets cast over furniture. The windows, dirty as they were, let in a weak and clouded light. A foggy day, which Nico had gathered from his previous trip were common in London. It was probably about one in the afternoon then, as it was too early for the afternoon sun to have burned the fog away.

The soft, Oriental rug under Nico's sneakers puffed with dust as he headed towards the door he thought he had come through the previous night. Now that the layer of sleep had worn off, Nico was hungry. He had burned up a lot of energy yesterday, and he needed to refuel. That, and he was always hungry. Teenagers have that tendency. Nico considered the chances of finding a McDonalds in London. There had to be at least one, right? Wasn't it a worldwide franchise? Either way, there had to be somewhere he could get a decent cheeseburger. He considered this as he stepped into the kitchen. It was already occupied by four people: Molly, Remus, Sirius, and the redhead who had spoken to Scars the night before. If they had been talking about anything before his entrance, which, judging by their positions, they had, it was suddenly ancient history. They were all silent for a minute, then the redhead opened his mouth to speak. Not wanting to be suckered into anything, Nico beat him to it.

"Just so you know," he began, "I'm going out to lunch. It shouldn't take longer than an hour. Does anybody know where the nearest McDonalds is?"

Their dumbfounded silence would have been amusing, if Nico had been focused enough to appreciate it.

"I'll take that as a no, then," he said, and he walked out. He was halfway down the street before anybody in the kitchen gathered their wits enough to speak. Nico walked out of the cul-de-sac, and down the adjoining road until he came to a busy intersection. A cab was passing by; they were close enough to the city to have the odd cab here and there. Nico flagged it down and told the driver to head to the nearest train station. Upon these directions, the driver made a sudden and unannounced U-turn that Nico had a good idea was illegal and they were off. A few sharp turns and loops later, the cab screeched to a stop.

"No, no, I already paid," Nico muttered as he got out. The driver accepted this and drove off, and Nico examined his surroundings. An intersection, a few brick buildings, the train station, which was fairly basic as far as train stations go, and right across the street… A Burger King. Brilliant.

Thirty minutes and two Whoppers later, Nico was on his way back to Grimmauld place. He had spent most of his cash on the burgers, so he just shadow traveled back. He could afford that, with all of those raw calories he had just consumed. When he got back to the house he was in a great mood. This, evidently, was not a mood shared by the rest of the household. The kitchen was empty, and Nico was just fine with that. Everything was quiet save for shuffling footsteps and murmured whispers. Nico sat at the table, focusing. Molly came in and jumped at Nico's being there, but didn't comment. Evidently, nobody cared where he had gone so long as he came back. So, Nico spent his first day at headquarters sitting in the kitchen. This was not a particularly horrible place to be; it was partially underground and the walls were stone, and the lack of candle and natural light caused it to be in a perpetual state of gloominess. Nico rather liked that.

People flowed in and out of the Kitchen, the most common being three of the four adults he had met last night, Scars having vanished for some unknown purpose. These individuals were interspaced with other people, of all types, coming and going and delivering information of varying levels of value. There was, without fail, always somebody in the kitchen to receive these visitors. Many of them spared Nico a cursory glance, but none talked to him or, apparently, considered him of particular importance. This was a mistake Nico saw no need to rectify; he was quite all right with sitting in the shadows as people came and went. It wasn't a good source of information, despite the good circumstances, because nobody said anything useful.

_Yaxley has been promoted to the Minister's circle._

_The hearing is going to be judged by Amelia Bones._

_The minister is sending his secretary to teach at Hogwarts._

_Still no word of any plans on the weapon._

Honestly, thought Nico, Who cares? Though he kept an open ear in case any news worth listening to passed through, eventually he settled for looking for the Horcrux.

He let his consciousness of the room spread to cover the first floor, and it was there like a neon sign. He focused, and was able to pinpoint its location to somewhere near the room he had stayed in. How convenient. The bit of soul in question was fragmented, sticking out among the clean souls elsewhere in the house.

When people make Horcuxes, the one thing they rarely take into consideration is how their soul is going to _fit_ into the little tiny boxes they insist on cramming them into. The soul is the entire personification of a human being. Their thoughts, wishes, hopes, dreams, everything that makes them who they are, packed into an immortal case that expanded throughout their entire body. When it is fragmented, as Tom Riddle's is, and he goes through a series of complex spells and considerable pain to remove the fragments from his body, he never considered that he was taking something approximately the size of a basketball and shoving into a container no bigger than a golf ball. The soul, after leaving the body, is in one heck of a lot of pain.

Of course, this was only a part of Tom Riddle's soul. The majority of it, the whole "wishes and dreams and consciousness" part, was still largely encased in Riddle's body. This part was the most essential and basic, simply the segment of soul that embodied Pride. The separation hadn't been clean, either. This might come as a surprise, but in general the soul _wants _to stay together. Murder, cold blooded, is a good way to separate it, but its not like it was a smooth, surgical, neat incision. More like somebody had given a drunken kindergartner a blunt axe and said "here. Hack away."

The feel of that made Nico cringe, the singular wrongness of it was so annoyingly present it was constantly pressing on the edge of his consciousness. The Horcrux was the missing tooth, the tree stump where a tree you saw every day used to be, the red curtains that took the place of blue ones, that little quirky thing that was out-of-place, that wasn't quite right, where something was missing, just obvious enough that it was always drawing your eye. Nico couldn't sit still for long before he was drawn back to that singularity that was so irritatingly there.

For the rest of the afternoon he sat at the dirty wooden table, his slender fingers finding the skull ring he wore and spinning it round and round on his finger. He was so maddened by the irregularity that he drew comfort from the constant that was his ring, and somehow knowing it was there helped him to keep his sanity. There is only so much, though, that a twisted, magical bit of silver can do, and it wasn't long before even that lost Nico's interest.

Finally, Nico could not take it. Little as he wanted to draw excess attention to himself or the Horcrux, he would go insane if he didn't go and at least see the nagging fragment. He shoved the lingering doubt of his ability to control himself if he got any closer to the Horcrux to the back of his mind.

His footsteps drew the curious eyes of the current occupants of the room; two wizards and a witch he had never seen before, and Sirius. Sirius stood up, but then seemed to think of something and sat down again. Nico didn't know why he had stopped, and a small part of his brain wondered if he should be concerned about Sirius' apparent lack of interest.

Well, it didn't really affect him anyway, so he went into the drawing room and pulled open the glass-fronted door to the cabinet. It was right there. A heavy, gold locket on a thick chain. Nico picked it up slowly, careful to only touch the chain. It was dusty and dirty, and the soul inside was mangled and ripped, but the gold maintained an antique beauty. Nico hated it. Every part of him, all of the molecules in his body begged him to destroy it. He had his black dagger halfway out before he forced his hand to shove it back into its sheath. Not yet, he told himself, someday, but not yet.

There was a sudden thumping coming down the hallway, and Nico froze. He dashed into his room and stashed the locket in his backpack, which he shoved under the bed and into the shadows. Then he reclined causally on the bed, leaning against the wall. He knew Scars had just come in. He knew that the first thing Scars would do would be to come in here and try to beat his ass for leaving. And he knew that unless he had a very, very good story, he was going to let him. This was his one last day in headquarters; he still had yet to talk to Dumbledore. If he could stretch this out just a teensy bit farther, he would be set. The door burst open.

Scars stood there, his features a mask of imperturbable calm. Then his dark, beady eye landed on Nico, and that screen of restrained indifference dropped away, showing the resentment and distrust that he had tried to keep so carefully hidden. Nico had been in the process of coming up with a valid and undeniable excuse, but it appeared he wouldn't get the chance to use it. Scars met his eyes for a lengthy second, as Nico waited for him to speak, but apparently speaking wasn't Scars' first choice of action. Nor, Nico remembered now, had it ever been, as the gnarled hand shot down for the little piece of wood that these wizards put so much faith behind. Nico caught every movement, instantly dropping into battle stance, but he forced his body to stay still. His reflexes screamed at him to move, while his mind locked his muscles firmly in place. He had seen the wand come out, and watched as the brilliant red beam made its way toward his chest. He had ample time to move, and he couldn't help flinching a little bit before he regained control of his body and held himself still because, as he reminded himself, if he were not a demigod, he couldn't have possibly reacted to avoid the stunner that flew straight towards his heart.

When the light hit him, he fell of his own accord and tried to make it as realistic as possible. However, he could do nothing as he watched the faded leather boot step up near his eye. And he hoped Scars didn't see his hands curl into fists when Scars kicked him in the side of the head, not quite hard enough to break his neck, but enough for him to mentally curse before everything went white, then black as the room faded beneath the horizon of his eyelids.

Sirius came into the room to find Moody kneeling over the unconscious, hopefully not dead body of Nico Di Angelo. Being as Moody was currently in the process of applying every known magical binding to the boy's wrists and ankles, Sirius could assume that the boy was simply stunned. He half-heartedly glared at Mad-eye.

"Is this _really_ necessary?" He asked, and Moody just looked up and glared at him. He levitated the boy's body,

"We have a serious problem. I was at the ministry, researching. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to hide the identity of this boy's father. He needs to be interrogated. I'm taking him somewhere more appropriate."

Sirius nodded, still frowning. He didn't like it, and the boy could hardly help who his parents were. However, he let Moody levitate the boy to waist height. Moody stowed his wand and grasped the boy's bound wrist firmly. He turned on the spot, and Sirius waited for the crack of apparition. Nothing happened. Moody still stood there, and Nico was still unconscious. Moody tried again, nothing.

"What the devil kind of magic is this?" Moody asked, releasing the boy, and then disappearing with a small pop. A second later he came back, frowning and eying Nico suspiciously. He tried again with the boy, and again nothing happened. Sirius came forward and grasped Nico's wrist, focusing on the street outside and twisting, waiting for the familiar crushing pressure. Still nothing. Thunder cracked outside, and both men jumped as a sudden flash of lightning lit up the drawing room. Sirius frowned, looking back at the boy.

"What do you think it is?" he asked, as Moody reached for his arm again. Their magic was not the problem, and the protection around the house didn't keep people inside it from Apparating out, so why couldn't Nico apparate? Moody didn't answer as he grabbed hold of Nico's wrist, and this time, there was a noticeable difference. Nico seemed to radiate darkness; a faint, black shadow rolled over his body like a second skin, slowly fading outwards. Another crack of lightning lit up the room, making the shadow that coated Nico more pronounced. As Moody released his wrist, the darkness faded away, but it seemed to be drawn _back _into Nico. Something was very not right about this, and Moody seemed very determined to figure it out. Finally, after cursing, minor violence, and such a clamor that it was a miracle Nico didn't wake up, Moody scowled and finally just _threw_ him into the backseat of a car and sped away. Then Sirius realized he hadn't wanted Nico to leave in the first place, and had no idea where Moody was taking him. Damn.

When Nico came to, his hands were tied behind his back and his ankles were bound to the legs of the rough wooden chair Scars had so courteously provided him. He tested the bindings carefully; they were magical. Nico resisted the urge to smile, magical bonds did nothing to hold him in place. However, as of now it was to his benefit that none of the wizards were aware of the ineffectiveness of their bindings, and he did not feel the need to inform them of that and let them figure out more effective means of securing him. So, he left his hands where they were and kept his feet pressed against the legs of the chair.

The second thing that came to his attention, after he had checked the status of his malingered captivity, was his pounding headache. Even as a magic-dependant, decadent, lazy, retired man, Scars knew how to kick. Nico wished he wasn't so attentive, paranoid, and vengeful, else he might have let the stunner run it's ineffective course and Nico would know where he was, how he got there, and the pounding in his skull wouldn't be so obnoxious.

He carefully surveyed his surroundings; he wasn't alone, but he was content to let the person standing under the invisibility cloak in the corner of the room stay there. Other than that, there wasn't much. A painting on the wall and a carpet under his feet declared that the room was not intended for interrogation, and the beige walls and the modern door told him he'd been moved from the headquarters to some other place, likely a side-house, farther from the center of activity. Nico smirked slightly and watched as the person under the invisibility cloak moved around him, then right in front of him. Nico pretended he couldn't tell there was anybody there, though the warped shadows and quivering air was painfully obvious. He wanted the person under the cloak to underestimate him, think that they had the advantage. After all, in the words of the greatest thief the world has ever known, " there is no freedom quite like the freedom of being constantly underestimated," and Nico certainly didn't want to be trapped under the burdens of suspicion right now.

So, he let his eyes wander, keeping the person in check but not staring at him

overly. He studied the only things worth looking at in the room; the two doors, the painting, and the carpet. It was obvious, but then again anything wizards tried to be subtle at was obvious. Sure, they dealt with sneak thieves and second story people and agents for the other side, but Nico wasn't a wizard. He was trained to notice things, not things that would give him a magical advantage, but things like the four little round depressions in the rug, that were as good as neon signs stating that the wooden chair he currently sat in had not always been the only furniture in the room. The little squares that were also evenly spaced, small absences where dust should have been that were plain evidence of side tables on the hardwood floor that poked out from under the rug. The differences in border between the doorway to the hallway, where the hardwood extended on, and the one on his right that led to the bathroom and had a narrow wooden border separating oak from tile, little things that told Nico about the type of house they were in, how many people were in it, and where it was. There was sunlight, weak sunlight, slipping in under the hall door. A foggy day, then, so they were still most likely in England. The color of the walls and the lack of outside noise told Nico they were in the suburbs. It was clear that despite whatever prowess they demonstrated in battle and however good they were at interrogating through magical means, wizards were not prepared to deal with muggles.

Shield charms wouldn't stop knives, arrows, or bullets, Nico thought, and he could, without difficulty, pull out a shotgun and blow a hole through any of their heads. Wizards were just stupid enough to not pay attention to the advances of the Muggle world; a simple combination of arrogance and ignorance that kept them writing letters and listening to the radio for entertainment. Nico rolled his eyes; the gun was still at his back, tucked in his waistband, though almost all of his knives were gone. The gun wasn't meant to return to him, but the wizards had left him with it because they didn't recognize it as a weapon. That was why they were so afraid of letting the "muggles" know about them; they could hide behind all of their memory charms, but they couldn't hide from the fact that the muggles they so shunned for their ignorance were smarter, more inventive, and more advanced than wizards. The wizarding race was doomed, simply because secrets cannot stay secrets forever, and shielding spells wouldn't help against things like atomic bombs or lighting bolts or _guns_ if it came to war. America was largely considered the nuclear superpower of the world, and the population of Wizards there was next to none.

Wizards are simply too engrossed in their magic ways, convinced that they are best, to stick their heads out of their archaic holes and study things like technology and science. Because they are still living in a time when they were superior to muggles, before pens replaced quills, before paper replaced parchment, and before battles were fought with nuclear warheads, AK-47's, hand grenades, and RPG's instead of swords, Wizards are slowly losing their strategic advantages. Demigods used swords and daggers out of necessity, but they still have Ipods and have outfitted guns to serve their purpose. The gods have adapted to the changing times, but the wizards haven't, and it would bring them down.

The person under the cloak had started to pace, and Nico kept his eyes from following the same pattern. The quivering air and constantly upset shadows were not helping his headache. He settled himself down to wait it out, but he didn't wait long. Obviously wanting to make a show of it, Scars yanked off the cloak.

"Oh, hello. I suppose I have you to thank for my headache?" Nico said. He was tired of the innocent act, but he would rather Scars not be aware of his magical immunity. So, while he feigned slight confusion, he let a little bit more venom creep into his tone.

"Yes, you do. I'm tired of this, boy. You are going to answer me, and you are going to answer me honestly. Now, _who is your father?_" Scars was not in the mood for games, apparently. So Nico decided to play.

"Darth Vader. Why do you ask?"

A sharp slap across the face cropped Nico's reply short. He scowled,

"Now that just wasn't nice."

"I told you to answer me, boy. I can hit you all day, so I'll ask again. _Who is your father?"_

"Would you like an honest answer or a believable one?"

Another backhand to the face, as Scars glared at Nico.

"Fine? You want me to tell you? My father is the Devil. Deal with it." Nico spat out. He enjoyed the look of rage on Scars' face. And that _was_ with an honest answer.

"I said no lies, boy. You want me to start using magic?"

"Please, go right ahead. I would love to watch you try to weasel the information out of me. Listen." Nico's hands struck out and grabbed Scars' shirt, pulling him close.

"I will not tell you my father's name. Ever. I don't care what you do. And the irony is, it doesn't even matter. There is no reason why I can't. His name is inconsequential. But you want to know, so I won't tell you."

Nico slammed his knee into Scars' gut and snaked a foot around his ankle. Seconds later, Scars was sitting on his rear on the floor. He had pulled out his wand, but the stunners and other jinxes he had send flying had had no effect. Nico walked past him, twirling his sword. Scars struggled on the floor, but something black and wispy was holding him to the rug, and he couldn't move his arms. Nico walked by, kicking him in the head as he did.

"That's for this gods-damn headache," he hissed, walking out the door as Scars lost consciousness.

So, Nico was out of that stupid little room and his cover was probably blown permanently. He tried to care, but found it immensely hard. His freedom was now void, but this is where the fun came in. The challenge. He dissolved into shadow, a vicious smile on his face.

Harry had just arrived at Grimmauld place and was settling in, waiting for Ron to say something.

"Well?" He asked, not bothering to keep the bitterness from his tone. Two months without any information. He'd just been bloody attacked by Dementors and _still_ nobody would tell him what was going on. Ron shifted behind him as Harry unpacked.

"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked stonily, "kept her in the dark too?"

"I don't know where Hermione is," Ron said, and now he looked worried, "she was supposed to get here _weeks_ ago, but then she owled and said she couldn't come. I don't know what happened."

"Hmm. Imagine not knowing something. Must be terrible." Harry said, and somewhere deep inside he did worry for Hermione, but on the surface, he was still raging.

The heated conversation escaladed, and the angry, defensive shouts echoed in the room and the hallway beyond. Accusations flew, defenses were shattered as their shouting match increased in volume and temperature. The boys, both smack in the center of those frustrating teenage years, flung their rage across the room at each other until finally an unfamiliar voice said, "Will you two shut up?"

They turned, stunned, forgetting their argument for a minute, and saw a face they hadn't seen in years.

"Nico?"

"What are _you _doing here?"

Nico smirked. his eyes were filled with mischief, but at the same time a frustration more subtle than that of his peers, but still very much present. His lips quirked up in a hostile imitation of a smile as he found a way to assert his control over a situation that was taking too long and not delivering enough results.

"Aw, are the boys too little to know what's going on? Shame, I wish I could tell you. I guess they thought you weren't mature enough to handle it." He met Ron's eyes, finding him the angrier of his two targets, and therefore the easier to play with.

Ron, finding someone other than his best friend on whom he could take out his anger, grabbed Nico's shoulder as he walked towards the door.

"Hey! Tell us what's going on!"

Nico looked at Ron's hand, his face twisted in anger while his brain wished that anybody else had done that. Percy, Annabeth, they might have provided a decent fight. They wouldn't have fallen back, and Nico could have used his sword for its intended purpose instead of merely threatening. As it was, however, a threat was all he could use unless he actually killed Ron. Not a bad .

"Do you want to keep that hand?" he asked, his voice dripping with venom as he glared at Ron, "I ditched you and your pathetic school five years ago, and I didn't want to come back. Now get off me, or I will make you. Understand?"

Slowly, Ron pulled his hand back. With one last scathing look, Nico turned around and walked away. He stepped down the stairs one at a time, angry that after all of this, he still had to wait. All he needed was to talk to Dumbledore and Gods damn it, he was going to talk to Dumbledore.

Innocence is so eighty years ago.

**Yeah, Yeah, Yeah. It was fun. It, unfortunately, did not last long, and circumstances beyond my control require that Nico's reign of murderous anger is much shorter than I would have liked. Next chapter up some time between now and June*.**

**-The Georgian Devil**

***No promises**


	6. an unexpected appearance or two

** You're going to have to bear with me on the formatting. I honestly don't have the time to go through and fix every problem with this stupid chapter, and I'm in a bad mood, so nitpickiness, while appreciated, is going to be severely glared at. I apologize for my snippiness, and this chapter has one of my favorite scenes in it. I hope it makes you laugh. More at the end. **

The news of the night's meeting having been sufficiently distributed to most of the order members who were unable to attend themselves, Molly and Sirius sat at the kitchen table. It had been approximately an hour since Moody had come and incapacitated Nico, which neither of the two current occupants of the kitchen were particularly pleased about, despite what various theories of either of them evidenced to the contrary. Moody hadn't stayed long enough to hear anything of importance, and he hadn't shared information either. He wasn't supposed to come to the meeting; he and Tonks had arrived as soon as Tonks' ministry shift had ended to give their news before they were supposed to check up on the security of their minor hold in Surrey. However, reports came back that only Tonks had shown up; Moody had evidently had more pressing things to do that had taken up all of the night and most of the morning. They hadn't been able to contact him all day, and he had only come back at around one in the afternoon. Then, he had seen Nico and lost his temper, and had gone off with the unconscious boy, the difficulties in Apparating sufficiently distracting Sirius to the point where he forgot to ask Moody where he was going until it was too late. Now the two adults sat in silence, each in the middle of their own thoughts. They didn't hear the shouting upstairs, nor did they pay attention to it. Sirius's thoughts were turned towards his godson, and Molly was thinking of Percy. So, it took the slamming of the kitchen door to draw them away from the problems they had faced to the one that had just marched in.

Nico looked mad, bordering on furious, but that wasn't all that had changed about him, Molly noticed as he stormed to the head of the table. His shoulders were squared, his back straightened with confidence. His eyes, previously sad, charcoal black, were now wells filled to the brim with a combination of anger and insanity, so mixed within each other that Molly could hardly tell the two emotions apart. He looked decades older, like he had already lived a lifetime and had just recently started over, keeping his past life tucked away in the endless shadows that were his eyes. The sheaths at his belt were no longer empty; leather hilts protruded from the tops and they were stiff with contents. He looked to have grown two inches and ten years; the contour lines of his face were pronounced and his already fine cheekbones were slightly higher, the hollows of his cheeks slightly deeper. His scar, once a lone sentiment to past fights, was joined by other souvenirs of long-ago battles; a pale line that jumped from his neck along his jaw, a white half-moon that went down from his nose to his lip and gave him a slight sneer. On his cheek was a mottled bruise, painting a misshapen black and purple near his eye. His walk had transformed from a casual stroll to an arrogant gait. He had left the house as a basic, if mysterious, fifteen-year-old, and had returned as an openly powerful and formidable soldier. His left hand rested on the hilt of a knife that was slightly longer than the others, and his right was twitching by his side as though eager to fight. When he spoke, his voice didn't waver. It was smooth and silky, but with an underlying steely anger that echoed the insanity of his eyes.

"Well?" he asked, and his tone spoke of danger, "I've waited long enough. Contact Dumbledore. I won't wait any longer."

Sirius stared at him. All traces of innocence and childhood had been washed from his face, and Sirius had the unpleasant sensation that he was seeing the real Nico for the first time.

"Where's Moody?" He asked, and he was surprised at the words. Why had he not said, "Where is your youth? Where is your compassion? Where is the innocent boy, starved for affection? Were those emotions nothing but masks that you shed as easily as you donned? Or did you pull them from their hidden cavities in your soul and have you merely pushed them away again?"

No, instead he had asked about Moody, and Sirius wondered if he would ever get the answers to those questions.

"Moody decided to meditate on the problem. Very deep meditation. He'll be back, eventually. In the meantime, however, I want to talk to Dumbledore. Now." A light smirk had slid onto Nico's face, but it was just as soon gone as his voice dipped back into its commanding, harsh ravine.

"Meditation? What kind of meditation?" Sirius asked incredulously, not at all liking Nico's smirk.

"He wasn't sure what to do with me. I persuaded him to take a little rest, and think on the problem. Now, I'm not in the most patient of mood, and I don't want to wait." Nico's scowl was ugly as he delivered these last lines.

"And you will not have to, Mr. Di Angelo," a new voice said from the kitchen door.

Dumbledore was serene as always, a pleasant smile to match Nico's grimace.

Nico spun to look him in the eye, "Good. We have some talking to do, in private," Nico glanced at Sirius and Molly, "It regards my—"

There was a sudden bang, and a cracking, rumbling sound from the earth, as the stone floor of the Kitchen began to shake. A small fissure opened, emitting steam as it grew larger and larger. A mass of bones erupted from the opening, landing in a small heap on the floor, and with a massive creak, the ground closed. The heap of bones began to move, and the Wizards looked on with wide eyes. All but Dumbledore, who's face betrayed his surprise and confusion in a much more dignified manner. Nico studied the heap as though it was a particularly interesting dust bunny. The wizards pulled out their wands, but Nico simply looked at it. Finally, he held up a hand.

The wizards looked uncertainly at each other, but Dumbledore nodded slightly, and they relaxed their wands slightly. The pile of bones started to twitch, and Nico just looked at them. He sighed, and said a few fluid words. Instantly, the bones began to shift in a mass of cracking and popping, and with in seconds, a full Skeleton stood on the floor. It wavered for a second before it knelt unsteadily on the ground.

In a series of hisses and clicks, its teeth chattered a sickly Morse code that made all but Nico cringe. Of course, Dumbledore didn't show it.

Nico responded in kind, his voice easily imitating the sounds. He was sharp, demanding, posing some form of question, and he sounded mad. The skeleton bowed its head, but Nico was distracted. His unfocused eyes snapped suddenly to Dumbledore, and he looked back at the Skeleton. He said something else, a dismissal. The earth rumbled again, but this time the movement was smooth and the skeleton slid into the crevice. It closed with a crunch, a crack in the stone tiles the only visible sign that for a moment, in the kitchen, a portal to hell had been opened.

"Damn," Nico hissed under his breath, as Dumbledore looked on curiously.

"An acquaintance of yours?" he asked, a frail hand gesturing to the crack in the floor.

Nico looked annoyed, "More of a business associate, but acquaintance is an appropriate term. Now, as I was saying—"

"What did it say?" Sirius asked suddenly, and Nico glared at him for the interruption, and then sighed.

"He brought some information I had been waiting for, it is crucial to an ongoing investigation. Unfortunately, the object it regards is in a most _inconvenient _location. I'm going to have to pull quite a few strings to get there, and it's going to take a lot longer than I hoped. But I have other things to deal with."

He turned back to Dumbledore, steadily rewrapping layers of mist around himself. Why, _why_ did he have to do this? The Freaking Horcrux- But he couldn't afford to fail again. So, instead of saying what he so dearly wanted to, he delivered the last thing he had ever imagined saying to Dumbledore.

"I wanted to talk to you about my education. If you remember, it was very promptly cut short." Nico grimaced slightly at the words; he had been so close to freedom, and now he was back in the game. If Jack was right, then this was to only way he could achieve his goal. He dragged himself from his moping to hear what Dumbledore was saying.

"Ah, yes, I do recall an incident involving the theft of a priceless object around mid-term some five years ago."

"Yes, well, circumstances beyond my control made it difficult to return, but I am back. I want to further my education. I didn't want to leave, but," Nico shrugged, "like I said, I didn't have too many options."

"Hmmm. What, exactly, happened to that item you stole?" Dumbledore's blue gaze met Nico's onyx, and he found not a shred of remorse.

"Firstly, I didn't steal anything. I simply took back what rightfully belonged to my family. And the stupid rock is gone, destroyed beyond the reaches of mortal man." Nico's gaze was level, "It cannot come back."

Dumbledore nodded, "I see. Did anybody make use of the stone before it was destroyed?"

"If they did, I don't see how it would be any of your business. It wasn't your stone, nor was it Nicholas Flamel's, and if someone were to make use of it, it would have very little impact on you. However, there's no reason to keep this from you. The stone was not used from the time it touched my hand to the time it was obliterated. So, no."

"Interesting. All the life and Money you could ever want? How could you ever pass that up?" Dumbledore asked, and Nico's eyes burned with hatred.

"What do I need money for? Gold is naught to me; lead is more useful."

"And Immortality?"

Nico glared at him, "Death is what makes life worth living," He spat, "I don't want to live forever, and only a fool would strive to master death. It is an impossible feat."

He slid in the jibe at Dumbledore out of pure spite, and he almost regretted it. He could get into Hogwarts anyways, of course, but it would be so much easier if he were accepted into the school.

Dumbledore didn't blink, so Nico took a deep breath and continued.

"So now you know. I didn't take anything because I wanted to, and I didn't take anything for myself. In the time I spent at Hogwarts, I learned so much. I wanted to stay. My Master ordered me home though, so," he sighed, "I had to leave. I want to learn now."

"Who is the master you serve?" Dumbledore asked, voice steady. Nico responded, face blank. He tried not to look annoyed or evasive at the question, and his tone matched Dumbledore's.

"Just my dad," he shrugged, "he sends me out to do the odd job now and then, which is why I came here in the first place. I realized that as long as I was here, I could take advantage of this opportunity. He gave me seven jobs to complete in England, and a full year to get them all done. I have ample time; he constantly underestimates my efficiency." Nico grinned a little bit. The last part wasn't strictly true— his father rarely, if ever, gave him time limits.

Dumbledore frowned.

"I'm afraid I wasn't quite clear enough. What is his name?"

"Henry. Henry Rey. You probably haven't heard of him; he lives in Los Angeles most of the year. He's a pretty powerful businessman." The now-practiced lie slid easily off of Nico's lips, he had come up with a definitive story after his flub with Sirius.

"But your last name is di Angelo," the aforementioned animagus said, confused.

"Di Angelo was my mother's name," Nico explained, "I still use it."

Dumbledore watched the exchange, studying Nico carefully.

"Why did you come here, Nico?"

Nico shrugged, "It wasn't too out of the way, and I had it from reliable sources that you came here a lot. So, I figured the only way to meet with you would be to come here and wait until you showed up."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, "you seemed rather… Upset when I came in. Was there a cause?"

Nico nodded, "Your friend with the magic eye was a little bit… rough. I was tired of him beating up on me because he didn't know who I was." Nico's hand drifted to his jaw, where the mottled ring of purple shadowed his cheek, a remnant of Moody's slaps.

Dumbledore nodded, "You will have to understand, this is the headquarters of a very delicate operation. We are rather… careful about the security."

Nico made his eyes slightly wider and his voice a little higher, "Why is that? What do you do here?"

In his head, he cursed again, wallowing in self-pity. He had been so looking forward to putting the charade behind him, and now here he was, playing innocent again. It was freaking annoying.

"Have you ever heard of a man called Voldemort?" Sirius asked, seemingly finding the need to answer Nico.

Nico frowned, "Isn't that French, or something? Vol du morte? Hold on, I've heard that somewhere."

He pulled out his phone and quickly googled the translation of Vol. He knew Morte, that one was easy enough, but Vol?

Flight, yes, that was it.

"Flight. Flight of death." Nico said, remembering the legend about Thanatos, "That's a really stupid name. Come on, Flight of Death? Honestly."

That brought a quick smile to Sirius's lips, but there was, yet again, a loud rumbling from the earth.

"Oh you have _got _to be _kidding me!_" Nico exclaimed as the rumbling stopped, drawing the curious glances of the wizards in the room.

"Another business associate?" Dumbledore asked, and Nico glared at the ground.

"No," he said, and while his face was blank, his voice was a growl of annoyance, "he's more like the boss."

"I can't _believe _you!" he said suddenly, his head jerking up and his gaze swiveling to the darkest corner of the room.

A silky voice rolled from the corresponding corner, a voice like melted chocolate; dark and rich.

"My flying is not stupid." The voice, suave and smooth, invaded the room like a mist, and yet still was immersed in the inflections of a pouting child. From the darkness, the toe of a black boot found its way into the light.

"No, it isn't. That was taken out of context."

"It still wasn't nice." Now, a person emerged. Black boots gave way to black jeans, which, aside from the crown, were the only thing the man in front of them wore. His chest and abs were chiseled to perfection, but there was something wrong. His muscles were so perfect they seemed unreal; _he _seemed unreal. His face was the picture of a rogue prince, a prince of darkness, come to avenge sins of centuries past, with high cheekbones and deep, brooding eyes. What really set off the image, though, was the crown. It was a ring of thorns, shifting and rolling, iridescent black against his pitch hair. The thorns were an inch long at the least, and they looked sharp enough to skewer whatever happened to be in the way. One more step, however, brought him fully into the light, and then they were clear. Eighteen feet, minimum, tip to tip, filling up the entire room, were his wings. A shimmering oil spill, a rainbow of purple on black, a net of onyx feathers that fit together smoothly and seamlessly. Then, under closer inspection, the flawless feathers were not soft and smooth, but interlaced with barbs, fishhooks, spikes that would cling to you and never let go. And Nico met this man's eyes with a combination of respect, which was understandable, and annoyance, which was dangerous.

"All of that complaining you always do about how much work you have and you show up here over a tiny mention? Don't you have a job to do?"

"I'm doing it," the man said, and his eyes flicked to the two men in the room. Nico looked surprised,

"I checked the directory before I came. Nobody was ready yet."

The man shrugged, "Yeah, well, one has been at the top of my personal attendance list forever, under the slow and painful category, and the other was only a half-year away."

Nico sighed, "and what's a half-year to a god?" he muttered, "So you decided to personally come here to take care of that?" he asked, louder.

The man smiled, "Now you're getting at it! So, who do I start with?"

Nico growled, "No. They're helping me, and I can't afford any mistakes."

"Ooh, is this the punishment for—"

"Yes, it is! So come back when the time is really up, and go do your job. This is annoying as it is."

The Man grinned, "I'm not the one who messed up one of the most important jobs assigned to me."

"I didn't mess up! That was not my fault!"

"Whatever you say, Nico. So, you really want them to live, hmmm?"

"Yes, I do, as it happens!"

"Well, being as his time is already up, you're going to need to get a waiver from one of the Admin for this. It isn't how I like to work."

"You don't like to work at all." Nico growled. He saw where the conversation was going. He didn't like it.

The man sighed, "This is true, and yet I'm always busy."

"Not so busy you can't come here personally and try to take away my resources."

The man laughed unpleasantly, "So, do you have that Waiver yet?"

"You know I wont be able to get one. Chloe hates me."

"That's because you are always trying to get something out of her. Be nice to her every once in a while."

"Yeah. Right." Nico muttered. Chloe was the head of registration. She hated everyone, on principle.

"Well, if you don't have a waiver, I suppose I'll start with the oldest."

"No! I need to get this done."

"That's problematic. What can you do for me then, Nico, so that I am persuaded to wait a while before I come back?"

Nico stared at the floor, waiting for it.

"What? No ideas? I know! When the time comes, _you_ take care of it. All of it."

"All! But that's not-"

"Fair? I get that a lot. No matter. You want them, you take care of everything. That includes the transfer paperwork, and the unnatural paperwork, and the cause of death paperwork, and reason for death paperwork, and the Who killed them paperwork, and the When that person will die paperwork, and the Circumstances of death paperwork. Careful; Chloe hates it when they aren't perfect. She'll take it to the Big Man himself. And you have two strikes already."

"All of those sound the same!"

The man's eyes flashed with malice, and he smiled a devil's smile.

"Annoying, no?"

Nico smacked his palm against the table, "This is for Vancouver, isn't it?"

At that, the man's smirk twisted into a deep scowl. "Do you have any idea how much work that was?"

"Yes, I do, because you made _me_ do half of it."

"It is not my fault you felt the need to bomb the city."

"I didn't bomb the city. The stupid Cyclops _sat_ on the city."

"Vancouver is to big for a Cyclops to sit on."

"Tell that to the Cyclops. He didn't seem to have any problems with it."

"That doesn't explain the warping shadows in Richmond and Burnaby."

"I had to move the Cyclops _somehow_."

"So you shadow traveled it?"

"Not exactly."

"You used Sceadu, didn't you?"

Nico didn't respond.

"So you _did_ bomb the city."

"No. I bombed the Cyclops lying on _top_ of the city. Distinct difference."

"Sure it is, Nico. You owe me for that, so you get to do the paperwork. Manually. Uh-oh, Poseidon's mad. Tidal Wave in San Francisco, gotta go."

And with that, the man leapt into the air and flew through the ceiling, melting into the stone.

Nico scowled and yelled a curse after him, for all the good it did.

Dumbledore watched him go, a slight frown on his ancient face.

"It seems that you and your friends have a knack for breaking through our security measures." He said, somehow ignoring their entire conversation.

Nico shrugged, "That's really not my fault."

Dumbledore nodded, "True. And yet, still we must blame you. It is your responsibility to see to it that our location and security problems are not compromised by any of the individuals that have come here because of you today."

Nico nodded, "I understand," is what he said. What he thought was, _yeah, right. If Thanatos wants to tell somebody, I'm not going to do shit to stop him._

"As it stands, however," Dumbledore said, looking at Nico squarely, "I see no reason why you should not be able to attend school this semester. You should be receiving a letter from Professor McGonagall within the week."

Nico smiled, and tried to put feeling behind it. Imagining Thanatos' head on a stick helped.

"Thank you, sir. You have no idea how much this means to me." As he stepped into the shadows, he caught a brief, final glimpse of Dumbledore's eyes. There was something there; some personal victory Nico couldn't understand. Whatever it was, Nico was sure it would be rendered obsolete, just like everything else about the man.

He landed in the hotel room he had used mist to book, just in case, and thought over the events of the day. All had gone fairly well until the very end. He now had the solid location of one Horcrux and the tentative location of another. And yet, somehow he had ended up going back to Hogwarts. Now that he no longer had to resort to measures like pretending to go and pay attention in classes, he could most likely explore the castle at his leisure. Those boys; Harry Potter and the Ron kid, might get in the way, but it was nothing he couldn't handle, either through harsh words or more aggressive persuasion. Nico grinned for a minute at the idea of his fist colliding with Ron's face, then recalled another person he would like to punch. Thanatos' cocky eyes gazed out at him from his memory, mocking his inability to act. He wished he had never said anything involving death, and if he could have gone back and erased that moment, he would. He _knew_ Thanatos had been looking for a chance to make him pay ever since he showed him up in the Vancouver incident, but he had still been careless with his words. From a certain point of view, he had been very lucky; Thanatos very easily could have taken Dumbledore, and very possibly Sirius. He had checked the standard directory, just to make sure he was prepared in case somebody dropped dead, but he hadn't checked Thanatos' personal attendance list. And he had seen Sirius's name, _way _down on the list, but the idea that Thanatos would show up; well, he had just never considered it. In that, he found his mistake, and he grimaced at the memory of their brief, annoying meeting. Thanks to that minor slight, he now had to kill Sirius and Dumbledore when the time came and fill out all of the necessary paperwork for the transfer of responsibility, and seeing as Sirius's death was probably not going to be natural, that was a whole packet of cause of death forms. Thanatos had the app that auto filled all of the information on his iPad, but Nico had yet to hack the password, so that was going to have to be done manually. The thought of it made Nico cringe, and he prayed that Dumbledore's death would be something like a heart-attack or a stroke. It would make it _so_ much easier on him. However, as there was very little he could do about it, he reclined on the hotel bed. Remembering something, he reached under it and yanked his backpack from the shadows. His heartbeat intensified at the mere nearness of it, and he pulled the golden chain from the depths of the sack. It dangled in the open air, shining dully in the yellow light from the lamp next to the bed. Carvings decorated the surface, shaping the soft gold into an intricate design, with a twisting snake centered. He sighed.

One down, he thought, five to go.

Sirius had never gotten into the habit of referring to the silver-haired professor as Albus. He couldn't do it; to him, it was just Dumbledore. So, As soon as Nico left, He said,

"Dumbledore! Don't you think-"

But he was sharply cut off in his protest.

"Sirius, I have considered the options. When Alastor first contacted me, alerting me to the situation, I assumed that Nico wanted to talk to me to get into Hogwarts. I spent the last week altering the wards around Hogwarts. Mr. di Angelo uses a very complex method of travel, and I had to ensure that he would not be able to come and go as he pleased this time. While the new wards are not particularly strong, they will effectively delay him if he tries to exit the grounds." Dumbledore said.

"But we think he might be, you know, _his_ son."

Dumbledore looked very tired all the sudden.

"Yes," he sighed, "that is entirely possible. He is sixteen now; he would have been born before Voldemort's fall from power. However, when he first came to Hogwarts, Voldemort was not yet strong, and Nico was working for an very powerful, very much alive wizard, who he referred to as his father. I do not believe that he is Tom Riddle's child."

"Is that so?"

Moody stumped into the room, sporting a bruise with an uncanny similarity to that which decorated Nico's face a few minutes earlier.

Dumbledore's studied him intently, "I suppose your interrogation of Mr. Di Angelo didn't go quite as planned."  
>Moody growled at him, "No, it sure as hell didn't. The little bastard broke through the restraints and got away. I was getting close to something, though, he looked angry."<p>

"Angry is an understatement," Sirius muttered, "He was downright furious. What did you do?"

"I just gave him a lesson in manners," Moody said, "And he thought I was being rude. Either way, He got really touchy, broke through the bonds, and used some kind of dark magic to get out."

Dumbledore's smiled, "Well, I'm sure you can ask him about it."

"What? What do you mean?"

"He's going to Hogwarts."

The next twenty minutes were spent with enough cursing, scowling, growling, reasoning, and complaining that finally Sirius remembered a key point that had to do with Nico's power, not his sudden and controversial enrollment.

"You figured out how he travels?"

Dumbledore nodded, "It is a rare and very dangerous form of Umbrakinesis."

Sirius looked at him blankly, "Like the Umbre spell?"

Dumbledore nodded carefully, apparently thinking it over.

"Yes, to an extent. It is like using the portal the Umbre spell creates as a device to transport oneself from one place to another."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Moody muttered, his fingers mindlessly drumming an irregular beat on the table, "That spell is nearly impossible to do right. He uses it all the time."

"Yes," Dumbledore said, "Which is why I fear that he has more power than he knows what to do with. I made the wards perhaps stronger than was necessary. I do not know how strong he is; I doubt even he knows that, but it will be safest to have him close to us. If his father is indeed Voldemort, then he will be cautious around Hogwarts and around me."

"And the skeleton? The 'visitors?' That... man... who blew through our wards?"

"I do not believe either of them would compromise our security," Dumbledore said, and Sirius marveled inwardly at his trust and complete lack of concern for the breach.

"What? What man? What the hell happened while I was gone?" Moody asked, looking at Sirius, who quickly explained the situation.

"You have got to be kidding me. This is proof, conclusive proof, that the boy is trouble. What makes you think that those two intruders are going to be inclined under torture to keep our secret?" Moody asked, quickly yanking taut this line of suspicion.

"Because the Skeleton does not know of our location, and the man, if he is who I think he is, has absolutely no care for our dealings here. He was American."

"So? Last I checked, Americans aren't invincible, even wizards. Who was he, then, if you trust him enough to risk this entire operation by letting him go unchecked?"

"Somebody who has been slighted, and wishes for revenge. He is somebody neither I nor Lord Voldemort have any control over. He will not cause problems, of this I am certain."

Moody fumed, but saw that Dumbledore was not going to say anything else. Sirius spoke up.

"What about what they were talking about? A Cyclops? In Vancouver? It takes a lot of power to be able to kill a Cyclops, and they're really rare. And what's Sceadu? I've never heard of that spell."

"It is very old, I heard mention of it once, long ago. I will have to look into it; but as of now, we must focus on the upcoming problems. I have an appointment with a contact." Dumbledore's stood up to leave as footsteps thundered on the stairs above them. "Oh, and Sirius, remember what we talked about before. Stay Safe."

The kitchen door swung open as the crack of Dumbledore's apparation, and Sirius and Moody turned to see Ron and Harry come in. Sirius jumped at their arrival, James was suddenly so oppressively present in the room it was hard to ignore. Little things, the way Harry held his hands, the way he would blink in surprise, the way he subconsciously touched his hair every few minutes. Sirius was overwhelmed by James's arrival even more so than Harry's. As it was, something was definitely clouding Harry's enjoyment at seeing him. After a few pleasantries were exchanged, Ron cut to the point.

"Did you know Nico is here? Nico Di Angelo?"

Sirius looked at Moody for a half second.

"Yes. Why? What happened?"

"Well, he's a psycho, for one. For two, he appeared in our room looking pissed off, and for three, he _stole the philosopher's stone_."

Harry nodded in the background, "He went to Hogwarts our first year."

Sirius sighed, "well, I suppose you better get used to him, then. He's coming back."

Again, angry outbursts and complaints filled the air.

Moody glanced up. "Boys. Don't you think that Sirius and I did everything in our power to help Dumbledore change his mind? I don't like it. Stay away from the Di Angelo boy, both of you." Hidden beneath this sentiment was a quiet anger, a pent up frustration that both Harry and Ron recognized. Still, they had one last question.

"But doesn't Dumbledore know that Nico is, you know, _his_ son?"

"Knowledge and speculation are two different things, Ron. We don't know anything, and until we do, Nico Di Angleo is going to Hogwarts." Sirius said. He didn't mean to be that sharp, but he was incredibly frustrated. The hall clock wailed, and Sirius jumped.

"You boys should be in bed, it's one o'clock." Sirius told them, and he rebelled against the words. Since when did one A.M. become late? His nighttimes would have barely started if... no, he wouldn't think that. The boys glumly left, and Moody waited a moment before speaking, his magical eye obviously following the boys up the stairs.

"Unbelievable." He growled, as soon as it was established that Harry and Ron had followed their instructions. Sirius sighed.

"All that time. It was _right there,_ the whole time. If molly hadn't been so insistent that we isolate the kids, we could have had this figured out so much faster, could have classified him as a threat, could have disabled his abilities to the point where he was harmless."

"In return for what? Letting him meet Harry Potter, when he could very well want to kill him? You would have exposed Harry to that kind of threat on the off chance that he would recognize Nico?" Sirius asked rhetorically. They both knew that it would have been too risky to have Harry and Nico meet, but the idea that it had been right there the whole time had them both seething.

"You should probably go see Molly about that bruise." Sirius said, regardless of the fact that it was past midnight. Moody shrugged,

"I think I'll go sleep it off," he said, and he was gone, the kitchen door swinging shut as Sirius kicked the chair across the room. He winced at the noise, but his pent up frustration was screaming about Dumbledore's words. Stay Safe. What was the goddamn point? He wondered, It wasn't _enough_ to live. It wasn't _enough _to sit in the house and be happy that he wasn't in Azkaban. It wasn't enough to watch his godson, his last connection to James, grow up away from him, even if it was safer. He kicked the chair again.

Damn Chair.

Damn House.

Damn Life.

His thoughts suddenly turned to Nico, who knew who he was. He had no real reason to keep it quiet; Sirius's whereabouts, his secrets. Nico would probably give him up in a heartbeat, Sirius thought wildly. He realized he welcomed it. Let them find me, he thought, let them surround me, and I'll go out fighting. I'll run. I won't have a bed, I won't always have food, but I'll be out of this house.

Finally, after a few minutes of nurturing his wild fantasy, he sat down in the chair and put his head in his hands. It didn't matter; none of it mattered. He summoned a bottle from the cabinet and felt the burn of the firewhiskey as it shattered his senses. It didn't last long; a few swigs and he shoved the bottle away from him. It sloshed over the rim and two drops landed on the table, turning the rough wood darker. He watched as they ran with the grain and dripped off of the table, leaving dark stains in their wake. He stared around the kitchen; it was so ironic that this was the room he spent most of his time in. His mother, may she rot in hell, had barely stepped foot in the room. It was only for show and for house elves; he wasn't ever supposed to come in here as a child. Now he rarely left. There were a lot of things he wasn't supposed to do as a child. He'd done most of them. He slid up the stairs to his room, the monotony of the kitchen leaving him sullen. It was a poor decision. His bedroom was nothing but remnants and memories, permanent sticking charms that were resiliently clinging to the faded wallpaper. Wallpaper that was also trying to hold on to the green silk that was long since faded. Motion caught his eye, He and James, sneaking out of Hogwarts. He remembered the night; sweet Mary Fresler had tried to catch them and had taken their picture as James had pulled off the Cloak. They were twelve, maybe thirteen. Mary... he hadn't seen her since Hogwarts. She had been younger than them by about a year. He looked at the picture, smiling as he thought back to it. It was a happy memory, and he grasped it firmly to keep the dementors of the night away.

For the next week, nobody talked about Nico Di Angelo. Harry and Ron wondered, and Moody was going out of his mind that Harry and Ron had known him all along, but nobody talked about it. That is, nobody except Fred and George, who told Ginny what was going on. They, of course, had listened to the entire transaction between Harry, Ron, Sirius, and Moody. However, attempts to discuss the upcoming attendance of Nico to Hogwarts were quickly stemmed. It wasn't until three nights later that they finally figured it out; Dumbledore had told the adults to keep it from the kids. That was the problem. Listening in at the meetings didn't help either, there was no talk of the boy during the convening of the Order. In fact, it was all so hushed up that they forgot about it. Or at least, they didn't mention it until the day of Harry's trial.

_**Here I relate an abridged version of the Trial of Mr. H. J. Potter. The full account can be found on pages 138 to 152 of the hardback copy of The Order of the Phoenix. **_

Harry's hands were sweating, his vision slightly fuzzy around the edges. The nervous ache in his stomach was familiar, but no less painful. This was not the worst he had faced by far, he told himself, remember the troll. Remember the basilisk. Remember the dementors. Remember that bloody Dragon. Remember Voldemort. And yet still, it was the same sensation of terror deep in his chest, when he contemplated exactly why he was here, what this event might mean for him. In that rough wooden chair, he realized the difference between sitting here, staring his judges in the eyes, and ducking death curses. Right now he had time to think. He had time to recognize and fully realize what could happen here, and it made him downright dizzy with fear. Fudge's words were sharp and clear, and Harry listened desperately to each one, searching for some semblance of mercy within them. He found none. Still, he was determined. He would not let them punish him for doing something in self defense. The thought heated his blood, and he found himself denying the claims, talking back to the minister, even though his annoyed responses were cut short. Then, Dumbledore arrived, and Harry's hot head was doused in a wave of icy cold, because not once did the professor even glance his way. However, much as Harry was angry with him, he had to admit that now that the entire thing was in Dumbledore's hands his dread was quickly subsiding. He looked quickly around the courtroom now with slightly more freedom as Dumbledore breezily called in witnesses and took control of the situation. That was when Harry saw him; casually reclined and watching with mild interest, Nico Di Angelo sat on one of the nearly full benches. Harry's eyes did not linger too long as the trial was still in progress, but now he noticed that Dumbledore's gaze, whenever it was not focused on the judges, was flicking to Nico every so often. However, Harry had little time to speculate about this. Soon, the trial was nearing its close, and that was the more pressing matter at hand. He had nearly forgotten about Nico as he counted hands, but they were down before he could get a good tally. Finally, he heard the words that made him breathe a sigh of relief.

"Cleared of all charges."

Dumbledore swept out of the courtroom, and Harry's last impression of him was that he was very, very tired. He looked to where Nico had been sitting, and he was still there, cockily looking across the room. He caught Harry's confused stare and smirked before vanishing in that way he so often did. Harry didn't dwell to much on that, however, as he fully realized what had just happened and quickly left the courtroom. After that, it was all a blur.

Nico vanished from the courtroom after Harry saw him, mostly because he wanted to scare the persistently annoying boy wizard, but also because Dumbledore had gone, and Dumbledore was the reason Nico was there in the first place. He knew Dumbledore was up to some serious high magic, he could see the casting residue like a fine, white, glowing powder, no matter how Dumbledore tried to disguise it in those long blue sleeves. It couldn't possibly be a good thing if that blasted man was wandering into Nico's area of expertise. There were some things that shouldn't be played with in that particular ballpark, especially if Dumbledore was experimenting with prevention methods. The residue was not a good sign, but on the other hand it meant that he hadn't gotten very far. When the powder became gray or black, then they were in real trouble. Actually, Dumbledore was. Nico needed him for his free and easy ticket into Hogwarts. The wards had been upgraded, which he hadn't accounted for, and while he liked to pretend it was a simple thing to travel into and out of wherever he pleased, Hogwarts was difficult. The new wards were hard to navigate and required a lot more energy to bypass than he wanted to spend on something like that. So, Dumbledore was his way in and he couldn't readily give that up. He would let the experiments continue, but he had to be careful. A mistake could kill Dumbledore, and Nico would rather he died _after_ he had served his purpose.

Meanwhile he was one step closer, he mused, twirling the onyx ring that was sliding loosely on his finger. He hated it the way he hated the locket; with a deep, burning passion, but he kept it close. He couldn't afford to waste time looking for something he had already found. That was why the locket was also near him; tucked in his pocket. He couldn't bring himself to put it on. Where the locket was pride, the ring was fear, and while fear was strong, he knew how to deal with it. He understood it. Pride was a thing that turned rational people into idiots, and he hated it. Perhaps it was because he was so proud, or perhaps it was because Pride was the main antagonist in his life, but the presence of a proud thing around his neck worried him far more than the presence of a scared thing around his finger. The two of them together were not so powerful that he was overwhelmed, but when he found the third, he would also need to find a safe place to put it. Carrying three Horcruxes around, the idea of it, made him shudder. Two weeks until Hogwarts, and he hoped to get to a certain cup before he was trapped in the school.

Dumbledore was certain Nico was staking out some member of the Order of the Phoenix, but he couldn't figure out who. Originally, he had thought it was Moody. Every time he saw Moody, Nico was somewhere nearby, but then he started catching glimpses of warped shadows around other members. He didn't know what to make of it. This last time, he thought he had it figured out. Nico was spying on Harry. Harry, however, was staying inside number 12, so Nico was collecting information on him. He had also noticed a new darkness in Nico, possibly due to his black eye or his fresh cut. Whatever Nico had been doing, it hadn't been easy or fun. Dumbledore began preparing the potions he needed to take for the tests he was doing today. The new wards he had improvised where coming along nicely, but they had their side effects. Shadow work was a tricky business, and caution was key. The white residue on his hands concerned him, as it couldn't be removed in any way he could try. He started casting spells, first to make sure he was not disturbed, then he began the shadow manipulation.

**See what I mean? It was by no means my best. Dumbledore's character is off, in some cases purposefully (I love making fun of him) and in others unintentionally. By the way, I know that Moody is OOC. He started off wrong and by the end its downright ridiculous. I rushed, I'm sorry, but hey, its March and I've got a huge workload. Again, don't expect another chapter until June. Thanks to all of you for sticking around.**

**~the Georgian Devil**

**p.s. the only good part, in my opinion, was Thanatos. The rest can all go to h***.**


	7. Hard Promises to Keep

**This will, with any luck, be the shortest chapter I ever post on this website. I apologize for my brevity after so long a wait, and I can only hope that from this point forward my chapters are longer. I also wish to inform you that, while I may be able to update with increasing consistency in the future, it is doubtful that the chapters will be up in a timely fashion. I apologize once more for my inconsistency, tardiness, and miniscule offering. Here is the latest installment.**

Nico's two weeks didn't go quite the way he wanted them to, which is a polite way of saying that everything blew up in his face. Thinking back over the past fourteen days, however, his thoughts on the subject were undecided. He had risked a lot and gained a lot, and now he was ever so slightly screwed over. But, he had an ally whose assistance might very well make up for his current situation. He ran his fingers through his hair, considering his options. On one hand, he could speed up the schedule. Forgo Hogwarts and Harry Potter and Dumbledore, and simply use the swiftest and most brutal methods at his disposal to eliminate his problem. On the other hand, that method would lose him potential allies if his business brought him to London in the future, which it very well might. It would also mean a lot of tedious, boring paperwork that could not be gotten around, and a lot of hard work and pain in a very small amount of time. Then again, the alternative was that he spend the next six months acting. Acting like he cared about school, acting like he was on two sides at once, acting like he wasn't going insane. Six months was a long time. He was ever so tempted to just call it quits and deal with the work and the pain if it meant he would go home. This was where these two weeks had left him, at war with himself, allied with opposing sides, and wanting members of both sides dead. His time, he sighed to himself, looking at the glowing digital clock on the nightstand, was drawing short to make a decision. In five hours, he would either be on a train to Hogwarts, or on his way to Malfoy Manor to end this.

Dumbledore surveyed his work, checking it over twice for any complications. The light barrier was only a start- a distraction, an attempt to make Nico think that he could easily bypass it. The real magic was in the dark line that rimmed the base of the dome-shaped wards. It didn't prevent leaving by foot, or apparating, but any form of shadow passing over it would be caught. He grimly considered the gray powder that coated his hands. It got darker every day, and he wondered what it meant. There was no mention of anything like this from any of his sources, so he would have to keep it under check. Meanwhile, he considered the job he had done. No matter how Nico tried to get out, he had made sure the wards would hold fast to any shadow that moved across them. It wouldn't harm him, only hold him there until he was forced to turn back. No, Nico Di Angelo would not be making any unscheduled trips in and out of Hogwarts this time.

Still not fully convinced that this was the better option, Nico considered turning around with every step that brought him closer to the train station. Then the train's magical barrier, which almost had him turning around again, then the boarding of the train, at which point he swore he could hear the shadows beckoning him to just melt into them and end this ridiculous charade. His resolution was still wavering as he sat down in the train's compartment, and while his ADHD kept coming up with reasons why he really shouldn't be doing this, the more sensible part of his brain noted that as long as he was doing this, he didn't have to hang around the Underworld, and he wasn't doing some other menial task for his father. This logic infallible in its reasoning, the sensible side of him won out and he forced himself to remain on the train. Until, of course, he got to Hogwarts. Then, everything changed.

It was restlessness. It was nauseating movement. It was a rippling uneasiness. It was the gut sensation, the uncomfortable pressure somewhere in his abdomen. It was the buzzing in his ears. It was the spot that danced in his vision. It was the pins and needles that twisted up his fingers. Beneath it there was raw power. Nico felt like he'd been living in a desert, conserving every drop of water, and now he was standing next to the ocean. A great swirling mass of shadow that rejoiced at seeing him. But before that, lying there, veiling that black abyss, was a thin layer of white magic. The train pulled into the station and Nico fought off the sickness and just looked for a moment at the great raw power that rested before him, shielded from his touch by the fragile glowing dome. He considered it, realizing that it was probably a good thing. That much shadow, concentrated in a single force would probably kill him. Still, he could feel it there behind him, held back by that rippling sheet of white. When he realized he was going to have to pass through the ridiculous barrier to get to the school he laughed.

"Nico." The old man watched as the boy's hands twitched, "So glad you could join us this year."

Nico said nothing, only nodding carefully. His feet were tapping quietly on the carpet, his knee was bouncing. His eyes were a darker black than Dumbledore had ever seen them, and his face looked healthier. His skin was not so alabaster, and his olive coloring was more visible.

"You seem anxious, Nico. Is there a problem?"

Nico still said nothing, just shaking his head quickly. His shadow, cast by the oil lamp, was starting to twitch nervously. Nico was seated still, but his shadow was learning tricks from that of peter pan and was proceeding to flick around the room as though worried. Ignoring the odd behavior, dumbledore plowed on.

"I wish to discuss certain measures of-"

"Let me see your hands."

"I beg your pardon?"

Nico was frowning, clearly not happy with something.

"I said let me see your hands."

Dumbledore held them out, the gray powder on them looking eerie in the warm light.

Nico hissed in frustration,

"Damn it."

"Is there a problem?"

"_is there a problem? _Is there a _problem? _You meddled in the most dangerous of sciences and you messed up, and you ask me if there's a problem."

"I was unaware that I had erred in my experiments."

"Well, news flash for you then!"

"I'm sure I will have to correct that then."

You still don't get this, do you? You don't know what this is? What it means? Do you have any idea exactly how deep you've gotten?" He swore again and began to pace, muttering to himself in greek.

" Αν είστε ήδη νεκρός μπορώ να σας σκοτώσει όχι."

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

Nico glared at him, "Its too late. I can't fix what you've done. You'll be dead within a week if you try to keep this up."

Dumbledore frowned, "I'm afraid I misunderstand you."

"Then perhaps I should make myself more clear! You formed a shadow containment boundary around the school thinking to detain me. That kind of magic takes serious, _serious_ power to hold and upkeep. It's already been in place for about five days. Your power will start to quaver within the next two days. It will fail entirely within four. The onslaught of repercussions will be too great and within five days you will be very much dead."

Dumbledore seemed to ponder the forceful statement, "If it is indeed as you say, then I suppose I ought to take down the boundary now."

Nico sighed, "You could theoretically do it with no immediate damage, but Shadow magic is different from normal wizardry. It uses the strength of your soul to maintain it, which means it cannot heal. You will never regain the power you used to place and hold the barrier."

"But I would be alive."

Nico's eyes were grave as he let the bitter words fall from his lips.

"You played with dark, dark magic when you started messing with shadows. Dark magic is the Devil's handiwork, his possession, his essence. By using it as you did, you called the devil's attention to yourself the second you uttered the incantation. This was neither the first nor the second time you've called on the powers of Satan, but the third. He knows your name now."

"And? What will the Devil do?"

"He would have either issued a challenge to you for your soul, with the intent of claiming it for himself, or gone with the easy way and just let your powers drain until you died. He has clearly chosen the second of the two and is merely biding his time until your soul floats down to him."

"You seem quite passionate about this."

"It's complicated."

"I'm a good listener."

"I want you dead. Lets get that out there to begin with. But not only do I want you to die, I want it to be me that kills you. If this barrier drains your life, than he has won and I am in trouble. Also, I need to know some things you have yet to tell me, and-"

Suddenly there was a shallow flicker in the candlelight, casting the room in shadow for just a moment. More was in this hollow second than Dumbledore saw, apparently, because Nico started to laugh.

"You know what, I don't care. Do whatever you want."

He left quickly after that, still laughing. So abrupt was this change in tactic that Dumbledore merely watched him go, not entirely sure Nico hadn't lost his mind.

**I'm sorry for the wait and the lack of material. Depending entirely on my schedule and/or interest, the next chapter could be up in a week or in August. Were I you, I would count on August. Circumstances beyond my control are squeezing my schedule, and therefore I have very little time to pursue this story. **

**Thanks for reading and see you in summer**

**- The Georgian Devil**


	8. Honest to Whatever God is Listening

**This is not a chapter. This is a teaser/trailer for the next chapter. And an Author's note to inform you that the next update will most likely not be coming until 2013. **

**I apologize, but facts are facts. This story is going temporarily dormant. Check back in January.**

Nico's laughter died instantly as he left the office. If Dumbledore thought that he was at all concerned about his soul

_but you already blew that one, didn't you? _

Then he would lose the one hold he had on him.

_Hold? The same hold you had on Thanatos? Because that worked so well last time._

It had been a mistake to discuss the souls

_mistake? Try complete lapse in anything resembling intelligence_

and a carefree laugh just might throw him off of the purpose of the conversation

_right because Dumbledore was born yesterday _

and maybe he'd be left alone for a while

_or maybe you are a completely worthless idiot for losing your temper_

but the voluntary share of information would keep Dumbledore from pressing too hard.

Nico growled his excuses at the voice in his head if only to quiet it. He knew exactly how to handle the situation, and in fact, that ridiculous outburst might just work to his own advantage. Dumbledore was naturally trusting, wasnt' he? He _wanted _to believe that Nico wanted to help him. Why push? Why subject this obviously emotionally and mentally messed up boy to interrogation when the answer would come in time? So, Dumbledore would wait. And Nico would use the time to find a way to keep stalling him. Then again, this made it harder to leave the castle. Dumbledore's new pet project was no good if he ran away at first chance. Then again, he could play that he needed space after this outburst... Either way, despite the mess he'd made, it would work out. Except the part where he'd admitted to wanting to kill Dumbledore. Not that the wizard hadn;t already known that, but it would prove problematic if that was the part he decided to focus on.

Whatever the elderly wizard decided, Nico had more pressing matters to deal with, and he made his way as quickly as he could to the grounds, where he was confronted by an irate and pale, shaky half-blood.

The shadows and ghosts he'd passed on the way had been vibrating with excitement, and it was pretty obvious why.

Percy was leaning against the cool stone of the castle, hacking and shuddering, and glaring at Nico. He had a kind of angry fire in his eyes that Nico had come to associate with tidal waves, earthquakes, and riptide.

"Nico," Percy rasped, "Just so you know, I'm going to _kill _you when this is over."

**There you go. The best I could do? No. The best you're gonna get? Yeah. Because other stuff is more important than this right now. **

**Sorry. You've never had a guarantee with this story before, it's not going to be any different because I'm having trouble getting my act together. **

**The story will be concluded in the next two chapters, which means they are going to be long and take a while.**

**Sometimes-**

**The Georgian Devil**


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